You Find A Letter...

"To my dearest Whomever-It-May-Concern,

I am dying. No, to put it more accurately, I am giving up my immortality. I am leaving this world we built. No one will know where I have gone, and since I will no longer be filling my production quota, they will not bother to look for me. I will be dead to the world. No matter, for this world is dead to me.

But you are holding this letter in your hands, and reading it with your clear eyes and your free thought. You are Future’s Child, and some part of humanity’s soul survives in you. Not many in this decaying world believe in you. For all I know, this letter may only be characters of an ancient and meaningless language, serving as a testament to No One. If that is so, then so be it. But if the marks on this page hold meaning to Someone, to Anyone, then hear now your history, be warned.

Once, long ago, humanity embarked on its greatest achievement. Civilization began with the healing of a broken bone, no great feat in medicine or science, and likely, the Injured One never walked again. But this is why they are sacred to those of us who believe in you, Future’s Child; the Injured One lived by the care of another. The One Who Fed blessed our kind with its future, and even as they did so, assured its downfall. For civilization would thrive on The Giving, but would soon outgrow the gifts. One among us discovered The Gold. No purpose did they derive from the substance, and yet it seemed to hold the Sun. The One Who Fed was gifted The Gold in thanks for The Giving, and we were cursed, Future’s Child, we were cursed. The word “Thanks” now is just another word for “Payment.” We began exchanging something useful for something useless. For some time, The Gold was locked behind the doors of the few, and they guarded it jealously, misunderstanding it to be rare and precious, though it was useless. And humanity fought battles, oh so many battles, for it. Battles of swords, and then battles of fire, and then battles of atoms, and then battles of minds. And then, one day, the battling ended. One side had won and taken all The Gold from dead hands. But then we didn't know what to do with it. Until we discovered that The Gold was good for something besides fighting over.

Now, you see, we all have Hearts of Gold. We prosper, and we have no more need for our hearts of muscle and blood. We gave them up long ago. They were not efficient, and they would stop if we grew too old, or worked too hard. That no longer exists, the Too Old or the Too Hard. Our Hearts of Gold don’t love, so they never have to feel broken. But we have one more step to achieve perfection, and the next upgrade is scheduled. We have invented the Golden Mind. We will be expected to undergo the operation. It will be quick and painless, they say. And then we will be eternal. But I think humans will not exist anymore. We will no longer need to think, and the thinking is the last thing we haven’t killed in ourselves.

But I am leaving, so I won’t count anymore. I will be alone in the trees and the grass and the World-That-Created-Itself, and I will give nothing, and I will take nothing. But I am leaving you my Heart of Gold, Future’s Child. Even as you read my last words, you hold it in your hands. If you can read this, and you feel pity for me, then humanity has survived somehow. A child has been born in the World-That-Created-Itself, and it has been cared for and taught. And now it is being given the same choice as was given to our shared progenitor. This is no accident. If you are reading this, I have broken my heart for you. You have found it cracked open, and this very letter was tucked inside. It is done. I feel..."

The letter goes on a little longer, but the last words are obscured by what look like tear stains. You wonder if the tears were sad or happy. You feel both of these things. The locket feels cold in your dirt-caked hand. You let it slip through your fingers, and your ears barely register the dull thud as it lands in the deep hole you were digging, before you stopped to read the letter. The sun is sinking, its light breaking into the thousands of stars as you fill in the grave. Then, clutching the letter, you turn towards home, leaving the heart shaped locket and its owner to rest, and the long grass to grow over them both.