The EDGE : a Fantasy

"Unless we eliminate Nuclear Weapons, there is little chance of Mankind surviving as a species" ~ Noam Chomsky

Are we also fated to be another lamp, another Light which is extinguished relatively unobserved, or if observed then unmoved, somewhere in the universe, as the result of a primitive, early phase of technological development which ultimately grew out of control?

Is this then the fate of many galactic civilizations perhaps?

i.e Like lights winking out across the vast Universe, that their own technology had outstripped their ability to deal with it, that their own Technology, being at last imbued with a sense of it's own 'separate' existence, had unchained itself from the concerns of it's makers, as it was driven by it's own agenda and thus, like so many others, we had unleashed on ourselves our own artificially intelligent Frankenstein, which ultimately did what it was designed to do...it destroyed...

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In the deep far-flung future, after many weeks journey on an endlessly dark and vaporous ocean, beneath the unremitting glare of a synthetic Sun and heading towards what had always been understood as a permanently shifting horizon, the New Day which shall from here on be recorded as Day 1, of Century 1 for the New Man, was abruptly born, the day our surviving scattered colony arrived at the Rift.


Historical tales tell us only that we followed the "Divine Rift" for an indeterminate length of time, moving as in a trance like drunken pin-balls along its restless, undulating edges of corrosive black foam, searching for arcane symbols which were said to be found scratched into its fragmenting, tiled surface..

Until the day arrived much like all the rest, static, still-born and as innocuous as a light bulb switching on when the Earth was utterly and irrevocably unmade. 


'The Edge' was something which seemed inconceivable, something which was unfathomable and many cried at first as they hugged each other and howled at the void to wake us from this collective nightmare which spelled the end of all our hopes and illusions. 


We had come to the end of our myths, folklore and apocrypha...

It was the the end of History, and the deep rip inside our psyches, the silent screaming in our heads and the finality of the mouth of darkness which stared hauntingly at us from Space and all along the EDGE told us all that this was not the home of our ancestors.


Eventually it became clear that we were being kept alive with unknown technologies in a type of atmospheric cocoon, and that 'We" were all that was left of Humanity...deposited like scum on a Petri dish after we had made the Earth uninhabitable for most of the animal kingdom, after we had almost destroyed our singular Home and with it the entire Human Race. 


We were ultimately discovered by an ancient Interstellar species which combed the gossamer filaments of our Galaxy seeking out Life.


These enigmatic inscrutable beings known simply as the 'The Collectors' had plucked the remnants of our people from the embers of our dying World, creating an artificial Planetoid for us which was crudely sculpted to resemble what remained on the face of Earth, placing it in a Geo-synchronous orbit around our dying home as a symbol, a beacon, a giant Pulsar sending a warning to all intelligent Life out there swarming through the vast oceans of Space, to Beware the twin pitfalls of Hubris and Arrogance, thus avoiding the fate which had befallen our species on Earth and thereby managing to avoid, at least in theory, creating another Carcinoma such as the inherently reptilian, destructive virus which the Human Race had obviously become.


 These twin demons were appointed our guardians, our permanent companions and tormentors, fashioned by the Collectors with just a hint of a flashing hard carapace beneath a dark red-cape.


Malignant twisted shapes which seemed to suggest another form of life, a realm of shadows and spirit beings that hovered in and out of our existence, monitoring us like dispassionate fiends at our heels.


At irregular intervals they would appear in the guise of our own craven gods, remaining suspended and frozen as they appeared to communicate with the Collectors, our timeless and transcendent benefactors.


 And then the orders would come, to methodically portion out their cruel gifts or sweet punishments to whomever was deemed unworthy, from half-alive machines in the walls.


Creatures that never slept, and kept us permanently awake via brain nets, cackling and grinning inside our heads like demented wizards.


As our twin Demons re-emerged from their nebulous nether world, stepping onto a dais dripping and glistening in constellations, that rose out of the inky black waters and towered high above our heads, they began to ritualistically strip back our DNA in slow-motion, before the eyes of the entire Universe, as we silently screamed.


And as they captured our agony and beamed these emotions in an endless stream of quantum packets into the deepest and most distant chasms of Space, some prayed standing naked and waist-high in the toxic sludge, with devotional symbols smeared on their chests and foreheads, and with arms outstretched in supplication to our new Gods, for the end which never came, for the sweet kiss of death forever out of reach.

We had arrived at our own Immortality as our very 'breaths and cries' streamed through the light years of deep space, bearing a message to the stars...at last arriving, in the 'ripeness of time' at God's Edge on the cusp of our infinitely expanding Universe.


And as our twin tormentors wound and unwound, twirling and unfurling our molecular chains over and over, holding aloft and scrutinizing the intricacies of our DNA as if they were holding some prize trophy necklaces, these enormous jewel-encrusted insects would meticulously re-enact their ancient ritualistic mysteries.


And as they performed an endless unnatural song, which was apprehended by us merely as vibrations through the random and incalculably long nights, I would quietly chant a fragment of an old Earth song, drifting softly like a lullaby inside my head, containing words I could no longer quite remember yet which somehow still held comfort for me :


"Home. Home on the Range. Where the Deer and the Antelope play..."