Falling Sun

FALLING SUN

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It was the third dawn since Artifex had created the universe. Every once in a while he'd find himself in awe at the marvels of his little world. It was everything he dreamed about; everything he could imagine, put into another reality.

He looked down for a brief moment, remembering once again that his creation was merely a computer simulation -- one he originally plugged into to escape reality for a few hours each day. But soon, he was attached to his program. He couldn't remember the last time he had unplugged to return to reality. This was his reality. This was his home.

He imagined a verdant landscape; a jungle of innumerable trees and abundant wildlife. Soon he found himself within the hot climate, feeling the sweat of his brow -- so very real, he thought to himself. However, his thoughts drifted to reality. He imagined his late wife, Aurora, yelling at him once again for coming home late. He walked up the stairs to the bedroom, filled with anger, though not entirely sure what his anger was directed towards at the moment. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he was mad that she chose to not follow him to his new reality, one far from the current reality of 2063. One where they could live together forever. The simulation could speed up the brain's processing speeds by more than ten times, meaning she could live for one hundred years in this world while her physical body experienced only ten years. That was, after all, how long she had after being told about her pancreatic cancer. Who was she to decide to turn away her chance to spend one hundred years with her husband? One hundred years with God?

He sat in his old room, contemplating her fateful decision, his hands brushing harshly against his worn face. Betrayal. She betrayed him!

Artifex nearly forgot he wasn't in the forest any more.Once again, he created a jungle. This time, he decided to make a sentient race to rule over the wildlife. He imagined models of rugged cavemen, a memory from his childhood of the many museums he visited, coming to life. It was done. He had created Man. He had achieved his dream. He was now God. But a flicker of sorrow swept his smile away, if for only a brief second or two. He could bring back Aurora. He could bring her back. He just had to imagine her.

He invoked the warmest of feelings with her; that memory of when she accepted his proposal for marriage. They were on the top floor of the Skyward Hotel -- so called because it was the tallest hotel in the city, at four thousand feet high. They could see everything from here. Except what was to come.

Artifex knelt, facing his soon-to-be wife. He remembered that he gave his offering to her, and he was satisfied -- for the moment. He looked up at his fiance. She didn't have a face. He forgot to give her a face. Stupid! stupid! he thought to himself emphatically.

"What's wrong, Artifex?"
"Nothing, Aurora, I just need a moment to think."
"About what?"
Artifex turned his head away. "I just need to think, honey."

He turned back, and saw her beautiful face again. The speckles of moles on the left side of her nose. The thin, brown eyebrows on her bronze skin. Those green eyes; the epitome of her beauty in those two little circles.

Then he remembered she wasn't real. Her face melted away, dripping onto the unreal floor. The room was now red; red with Artifex's scarlet anger. He couldn't control himself, but for only that moment. Artifex stared at the grotesque puddle on the vivid floor. He wasn't sure what he'd remember of her was really Aurora. The thought alone should have horrified him, yet he felt nothing but distance. He was too far from home now. Did her semblance to reality matter any more? She was nothing but rotting flesh now. He could shape her, molding her into something new. Perhaps even something better.

Artifex calmly recalled the memory - or his imagination? - and everything returned to its previous serenity. Or so he thought.

"Just tell me, Artifex. Come on!"

Aurora's beautiful eyes were now strained with a strange, ugly conviction. Perhaps, he thought reluctantly, she had always known that he had been cheating on her? Or was this merely a memory intertwining itself with his dream? Artifex decided not to dwell on the thought, instead playing along with his wife. His construct, he thought. He remembered the traditional Catholic wedding she had requested. Until death do us part, they had agreed. Death had done her part. But not him. Then a memory crashed into him, violently throwing his consciousness into chaos. He tried hard to suppress this familiar dirge. He had kept it silent since his first plugin. But he couldn't stop it now.

"Artifex, you know I'm not leaving you," Aurora told me peacefully. How strange that was, he remembered. It was the first time she had been able to talk to him without breaking into tears after being told about her cancer.
"Yes, you are! You can't leave me! Why can't you just spend more time with me in the Construct?" He paced around the musky hospital room. "We could be together for years more, at the very least! How could you even consider dying like this?"
"This is the way it's meant to be--"
"It's shameful, that's what it is! I don't care what it's 'supposed to be'. It doesn't change the fact that you're dying in shame! I could change this, Aurora. We could make a new place to live. A new house. We could have kids. Don't you want that? Don't you want to feel what we've been missing our whole lives? To finally fill the emptiness in our hearts? It doesn't have to end like this. Don't you see that? Can't you get that through your head?"
"And how insane that would be! That house wouldn't be ours. Those kids wouldn't be ours. That life, Artifex, wouldn't be ours. It would be fake. True, that emptiness would be filled, but with dreams, not reality. Our dreams don't matter right now. What matters is what we've done. And I don't regret a single moment living with you." Another tear streamed from her delicate eyes once again, but now it was different. Joyous.

Artifex felt another chill course through his body, though much stronger than the initial reaction to Aurora's words. Was he really happy here in his own world? He felt lonely. Did his new Aurora really fill that hole in heart?

He pulled up his sleeve, slowly running his fingers across the A branded on his forearm. The anarchist's symbol. Taboo; forbidden in the New Gilded Age. Artifex could remember his oppressor's face vividly; much like past presidents, his arms moved dexterously as he gave rousing - yet purposeless - speeches to his voters, often citing the failures of the past government and promising a brighter future like the rest of those damn messiahs. But unlike his predecessors, President Vitio was much more successful in subduing the masses. Through laws backed by a people desperate for hope and change, Vitio, with the aid of corrupt Congressman and incompetent Justices alike, enacted the removal of free speech - preaching that it would allow the sunken country to rise again - along with the removal of the term limit.

Artifex was one of the few to see the fall of democracy. Most Americans fell into two groups: those who were too patriotic to even comprehend their loss of freedom, and those who were too apathetic to care. However, Artifex was not alone. Riots broke out when protestors spoke out for freedom. They cried for freedom at the top of their lungs on the Senate's steps. But they were soon found themselves vastly outnumbered by hordes of policemen, attacked the protestors when they refused to leave. But the media, far too powerful in its own right, portrayed the protestors as crude ruffians and insolent adventure-seekers. Any chance to appeal to the American masses was now lost.