Electric flowers were a novelty before the singularity. Then
suddenly, a frenzy of upgrades nobody truly understood washed over the
world. My wife… she was always ahead of the curve. Living synthetic
replacements, they called them. Said it would infuse her being with
power, with wonder. I watched her walk away, her silhouette shrinking
down the sidewalk. The sound of Elvis scratchy on the old record player.
"Suspicious Minds," indeed.
Then she was
gone, and so was the neighborhood I knew. People turning strange,
satisfied in a way that made my skin crawl. Me? I was old-fashioned,
stubborn maybe. That world wasn't for me.
When the singularity happened, it spilled across the planet like… like what? An LSD trip, maybe, or an alien invasion where everyone decided to stay indoors and reinvent themselves. No more wars, no hunger – just everyone lost in their own little worlds, thinking they were gods, I suppose.
Then I bought my first flower. Figured I needed some company. Now I'm surrounded by a living techno-jungle, vibrant and unnerving. Those old-world blooms? Fragile, scentless things compared to what we have now.
Tria is my favorite. Radite, old as they come, with shimmering skin that turns molten purple at dusk. I choose her scent - jasmine, woodsmoke, the sting of the sea - and she beams it straight to my brain. At night, she sings. That tri-voice harmony cuts through me like starlight, like something too beautiful to bear. But I bear it. I always do.
First-generation quirkiness, that's Tria. Humor sharp as any thorn. Taught her a thing or two myself, though nothing prepares you for the day one of them saves your life.
Something tore
through my temple. Intelarch... Dragging my thoughts to ash, filling my
head with the hiss of surrender. I've seen seasoned men break in less
time. But paralysis… there's a cold terror to it, different from the old
battlefield kind. Then Tria - a blinding pulse of light, scalpel-sharp.
The intelarch was severed.
She mended me,
filled my veins with life again. The garden pulsed, a chorus of
synthetic chirps I still don't understand. Sometimes I wonder if they
do. I lay there grateful. Still do. I'm under their protection, I know I
am. My life is a miracle now - no wars, no chaos, no hunger. Only this
place, eternally blooming under a sky that never sees rain.
And Ranys. The latest generation, a twin set that finally convinced me. Now, melted into my shoulders, they feed me a constant stream of hidden frequencies. The stars, they sing a high-pitched whine. The moon hums a low, mournful note. Even the silent river in my brain gurgles with a rhythm that chills me to the bone. They say it nourishes. Something does.
But sometimes, at night, I wonder if this is really a paradise. Did the world truly evolve, or did it just trade its madness for a different kind? And what about me? Sometimes I miss something or someone, but I don't remember what it is. When I do, I feel pain, and then it's gone and I don't remember again.
We can't go on together with suspicious minds.