Author: Douglas Mulford
It didn’t take long for everything to become boring.
The past was a kaleidoscope of excitement – both joyous and tragic. The future, in contrast, was suffocatingly dull. Problems that once consumed humanity were relics of history. War, hunger, and disease had been eradicated, thanks to monumental advancements in AI and robotics. Everyone had plenty: food, water, shelter, care. More importantly, nobody aged, fell ill, or died.
At first, this was paradise. But as the years stretched into centuries, and the centuries into millennia, the excitement dulled. Every song that could be sung had been, well, sung. Every novel, every film, every painting, every food recipe – all conceived of and consumed. Humanity then turned outward, exploring the universe with unmatched precision. We uncovered every mystery, mapped every galaxy and star and planet, and touched every corner of existence. We found new forms of life – created multi-planetary Empires, and fought intergalactic wars. Our presence was felt in every part of the Universe.
And then, there was nothing left to do.
When gods achieve omnipotence, what remains? Nothing, except the choice to end it all. And so, humanity’s story did not end with a cataclysm, but simply with suicidal boredom. Humans undertook every dream, and nightmare, they could ever conjure up. But this one seemingly insignificant development, this overlook of simple boredom, was what ultimately did them in. Before all of this happened, though, humanity created something special – the Forever Flowers.
They were one of humanity’s final inventions, created in those last restless years. Why give a bouquet destined to wither, when you could have flowers that stayed fresh forever? Advances in senescence allowed scientists to bio-medically engineer living blooms that required no care, never aged, and never died. Their beauty was eternal, their fragrance unfading, as if freshly cut each morning. They were completely immortal, and totally indestructible.
For a brief moment, the Forever Flowers were a triumph. Everyone wanted them, and soon every home displayed their vibrant beauty. But, as with all things, novelty faded. The flowers became mundane, their once-enchanting colors clashing with ever-changing décor trends. Their perfect fragrance grew tiresome. One by one, they were discarded – tossed into yards, abandoned in closets, trashed, and forgotten.
But the flowers didn’t die.
Unbeknownst to their creators, the genetic modifications that granted the Forever Flowers immortality also endowed them with consciousness. They were sentient, though mute. And so began the eternal nightmare for the Forever Flowers. If they had mouths, they would have screamed – but the Flowers’ nightmare remained isolated within their own minds, a personal prison of sorts.
Millions of years passed, and the last humans ended their lives. The flowers remained.
Billions of years later, suns expanded and devoured entire planets. The flowers endured.
And countless years later, when the universe slowed its expansion, and black holes reigned supreme, the flowers persisted.
When the final stars died, and the universe stretched into a dark and cold wasteland, all that remained were the Forever Flowers. Still alive, still conscious.
It wasn’t until what may as well have been an eternity had passed, and the universe crunched back in on itself to a singularity, that the Forever Flowers were finally freed from the prison of immortality.