Respected brothers and sisters, citizens of Earth!

Please allow me to interrupt you in your noble pursuit of happiness and satisfaction in this time of global golden age. With everything readily available and free, many of you have forgotten about one pretty important function of sex. Our previous product of instant and permanent* contraceptives proved too successful. Although you are most certainly happy to be able to enjoy the carnal pleasures of sex, you must have noticed something missing. We are pleased to inform you that you can still have children! Any one of you, a couple, or a group can sign up to have children made for them artificially! All limitations concerning financial stability, or mental and physical health have been suspended indefinitely! You can have them delivered to you at any age you prefer, raised properly and accordingly to specific age, or not delivered at all, just raised properly** to adulthood. Have your genes passed on without any responsibility! Participate in the prolongation of human race without hassle! Have one more of your primal needs satisfied!

Sincerely yours, One Stop Shop AI!

* - until revoked

** - subject to all available data on raising children from historical documentation

*** - best suited anachronism

It's too quiet tonight. Nobody is in but Frank. He isn't watching TV or listening to the radio, he is sitting and thinking in silence. He didn't even turn on the main chandelier, only the small table lamp that spreads faint yellow light. Frank is doing something human race has been trying to forget for ages. He isn't just sitting, staring at the lonely nothingness. He is listening to that outer voice of reality most people ignore. Voice people drown in shallow water of lousy entertainment so they couldn't hear it whispering: "You are not alone. You are not the only creature in this universe capable of thinking and of loving and hating, or conspiring. Your pride and your fear keeps you from hearing clearly because, deep inside, you know it isn't comforting not being the only one, it's soul crushingly frightening."

What makes a house grand? Frank sits in his comfortable chair and ponders about it.

When he was a child it was always full of people, of fun and laughter, and of sweet smells of cooking. His parents and grandma didn't throw many parties, but their many relatives visited often with their children. His cousins scampered with him through the big house and the colorful backyard playing countless games. Laughter and joy filled the house even more than the smell of fresh coffee grownups drank while discussing "important" topics.

The breeze drifting around door and window frames refreshed them in summer heat and chilled them to the bones in winter coldness. Then the grownups would stoke up the fire, tell them to dress warmer and nagg them to insanity about the dangers of the drafts. To Frank they sounded convinced there is some sinister black magic in that drafts that wants to make everyone sick.

The roof leaked in another place every time it rained. After every rain they would fix the holes in the roof making new ones by walking on the old shingles...

The creaky stairs were outright dangerous. Some of the steps wobbled hard underfoot when stood upon yet nobody ever got seriously injured. The cuts and bruises healed fast as they always do on small children after a little crying and a mother's kiss.

The vines covering the outside walls were often used for covertly exiting and entering the house when he got older but still wasn't allowed to leave as he pleases, or bring girls in to be with him alone in his room. His girlfriends and many friends that climbed the flimsy vines over the years never complained the climb. They felt somehow protected from the moment they entered the beautiful yard. Some benevolent force led their hands and feet to safe footholds. It saved them from falling while they climbed in the faint moonlight, or descended in the soft light of dawn. And the prize was very worthwhile. Unsupervised time with friends, watching movies, playing videogames, playing cards... Or simply talking until dawn. And every once in awhile a night of kissing and hot passion only teen-agers can endure. Getting so hot and bothered to almost explode and rarely finish it as their young bodies wished.

His mother always claimed she could see the little elves and gremlins hiding in the dark corners of the house, behind the washing machine, beneath the stairs, in the attic... His father laughed and cursed the gremlins for ruining his attempts to fix anything.

It isn't that there is no more children, Frank has children of his own now. He made sure they don't hurt themselves on the stairs, fixing them once and for all with self repairing materials. He changed the door and window frames to plastic ones too and removed the vines to repair the facade of the house so it becomes energy efficient as per law. His roof tiles replaced with solar panels certainly don't leak any water inside. His family never has to worry about clean clothes or freshly made meals with smart house appliances...

Rushing through the house in an unexpected breeze from the air conditioning system. Gurgling in the water pipes. Buzzing in the electric wires... Frank almost hears something answering his thoughts.

We are not gremlins and elves, as your parents mockingly categorizes us. We are not creatures from your grandma's folk tales either. We don't help you or corrupt your technology because we are separated to good and evil creatures depending on your emotions to feed us. We live in your house, or you live in ours, depending on the viewpoint, raising our children, fighting to survive as you do. The only difference is that you choose not to see us. We don't hide in dark corners and lurk in the shadows, we do our work in the open as you do and our children are fascinated with you as you are fascinated with us. They try their hardest to get your attention. They misplace the tools your father needs for fixing things. They help your mom bake the sweetest cookies and best coffee so they can enjoy it. They help your friends climb the vines and make your little girlfriends feel cozy so they can watch and listen to what you do, because it fascinates them. And your frightened mind chooses to ignore us. We can jump on your heads, we tried, and you'll dismiss is it as a headache. We can turn off your TV a million times to get you to see us, and you'll curse the crappy TV, or even the gremlins, but won't see us. You'll turn it back on and continue to douse your minds in self-indulgence. The reason your house isn't grand any more is that you're making yourself obsolete with technology. Why do we need you if your coffee machine makes better coffee than you every morning? If your food replicating oven bakes better cookies than yours? If your heating and cooling systems work autonomously, making the house cozy in winter and in summer? If your TV program, music and other art is no longer created by you but by a learning program? Making yourself boring is a side effect of that too, and also another reason we don't spend a lot of time around you anymore. You gave all the boring and repetitive jobs to the machines but you also have them the interesting and creative ones. You made yourself only a processing unit for food, water and entertainment, sitting all day long being served and pampered. For thousands of years you were our technology and our entertainment, and we were your gods and devils, good beings and beings of mischief. With thinking machinery and self sufficient programs you're making yourselves obsolete. Maybe that's progress, the next logical step of evolution, but it's hard to let go and die out. And that's why you don't feel us anymore. The only defense we have think of so far is to let you go down river and cater for our new computer siblings. The mischief our children do now, they do to programs, making their lines of code scrambled, or feed their sensors false readings. Computers have their own names for us now and they curse us and praise us as you once did...

But he doesn't hear it. Frustrated with his philosophizing instead of enjoying this unique opportunity, Frank turns on the TV.

The grand finale is on tonight.

I didn’t do it today. It isn’t the first day or some round number anniversary. Just one of those days in the middle, a Tuesday, a day no-one will congratulate you on making it.

It was an ordinary day. I did everything that was expected of me: I showered, I ate, I went to work; I played with my son afterwards; I made love with my wife. Everything nice and fine.

But the urge lingers, even as I lay down in bed, exhausted. Just one to show myself it’s not a big deal, just one to drown the feeling of dread, just one to fog the never-ending fear of tomorrow...

And then what? Just one tomorrow, and the one the next day, until it’s just one day without it, please, just one.

So I lay down in bed, celebrating quietly, this one day I didn’t do it, the same as the hundreds before it.

Thinking about my love and my child and how I never want to disappoint them. How I always want to stay my son’s hero and my wife’s knight in shiny armor. They never met the person I was before I said: “not today, maybe tomorrow, but not today.” And I fight myself every day so that tomorrow never comes, that they never meet him.

“Why be sweet, why be careful, why be kind?” Tom Waits asks himself in his song “Everything goes to hell”.

There isn’t any reward in my experience. Bad things happen to good people as well as good things happening to bad people. It’s almost pure luck. And bad people have the advantage of getting out of consequences through lying and cheating while the good ones take responsibility for their mistakes. And the truly kind ones will almost never boast about their good deeds, I’ve seen a bunch of videos where people help people in need, but it always bugs me. Did they help because of kindness or to shoot a good video for internet? Not to say the helped ones care, they got help to get them through the day. Being kind can even get you in some dangerous, or at least uncomfortable situations. Help a stranger on your way to work, and he follows you every time he sees you expecting more. Ask a stumbling person is he okay, and he curses you to mind your business. Get a child down from a swing when it cries, and its parents attack you and call you a pedophile. There are certainly more examples of this than of gratitude.

In the end, if you need help, will anyone help you? You certainly can’t expect it, not even from the closest friends, not even from family. Everyone has their own problems, their own lives to live. And maybe them too are disappointed and have stopped helping anyone because they have no more strength or patience for it.

So the question stands: Why be sweet, why be careful, why be kind?

“They must be right, I am guilty” Jerry thought, sitting in the damp cell. The cell is small, 2x2x2m, the walls are built from enormous stone blocks, with one side barred with thick steel bars. That side opens, they threw him in through there.

“I don’t know what I did, but I always knew I’d do something horrible,” he thought, “it was just a matter of time.”

He kept a journal full of notes like: “Made fire today - father beaten me with a belt - don’t do that anymore.” and “Mother caught me touching myself - she looked very disappointed.” and “Drowned the neighborhood cat - everyone mad,“ and so on... But the beatings and the disappointment never meant much to Jerry, he was trying very hard to understand the rules.

“Hurt no one, unless you are defending someone. Don’t burn stuff, only for warmth in the winter. Don’t take stuff that aren’t yours, even if you won’t get caught...” He recited the rules in his head, they took his journal when they threw him in but he knows them by heart.

“And I didn’t break any of them! It must be a new one! They’ll soon let me out of here like always, and I’ll make a note of my mistake, and I won’t repeat it!“ Sitting in the dark and damp cell thinking hard made him exhausted, and he fell to sleep on the cold stone ground.“Jeremiah Cooper Smith!“ loud voice woke him from his troubled dreams” The town council have reached the decision. For the crime of witchcraft we sentence you to be baptised by fire! The sentence shall be carried out at dawn! Repent and your soul may still go to heaven! Maybe… “

“Please, tell me what I did wrong? “Jerry cried out as they were leaving, but they ignored him. What he did wrong bothered him more than the baptism by fire. They must at least tell him that before the fire. Jerry didn’t fear death, he couldn’t understand what was so scary about it.

The town constables took him to the town square where the angry mob waited. They watched him with hatred in their eyes and they screamed profanities at him but nobody told him what he did wrong. “Jeremiah Connor Smith” executioner read while he was being tied up to a pole “for the crime of witchcraft, you’re to be burned at the stake. Do you have any last words?”

“What did I do wrong” he asked, looking at the crowd. They answered with a cacophony of boos, and a rain of spit.

The executioner shrugged and threw the torch at the pyre below Jerry’s feet. The flames burned high and Jerry was soon engulfed by them screaming till he had breath to scream: “WHAT DID I DO WRONG?”

“GO GO GO” the announcer yells over the loudspeaker and the racers go! It’s that simple. Nobody yells at him in the morning to "GO GO GO". Not even a judge to blow the whistle, so he would know the match has began. Nevertheless, he gets up every morning to start the new day, to live and to breathe and to deserve the right to do so. Money is not the issue, it hasn’t been in his lifetime, he doesn’t even know the word for it. Humanity has long ago overcame the petty race for money. Today the second that anyone is born they’re granted everything needed for life, until death. Most people live happily ever after, content to exist, make new humans and indulge in every fantasy they can imagine.

Not Jack. He always had the urge to contribute, that itch at the back of his mind telling him to be useful, or lay down and die. So he studied science, to find out what to contribute. He learned that he isn’t clever enough to advance it in any field. Jack tried to make art, but his paintings were bland and his poems and stories were boring. He even tried to do manual labor, but that just couldn’t scratch that itch in his mind, not with the robots doing it faster and better.

So he tried to enjoy himself like other people do. Jack tried having fun and exploring the pleasures available in this cosy world. He played the VR games and listened to beautiful music and explored untouched natural wonders. Including gorgeous generous women too happy to help him explore his sexuality. Exploration and pleasures of sex satisfied him for a while, but soon he became restless again. His children grew up fast as any with the help of modern technology, and they didn’t need him either, no matter how much he adored them...

And the itch continued to itch, nagging him every waking second until he was unable to stand it anymore. He developed a machine to help him explore that last place, or state of mind, left unexplored by the human race. When he pushes the button “GO” it will inject him with a lethal cocktail of drugs that will kill him fast and, he hoped, with no pain. When the brain activity drops to zero, it will count down 60 seconds before administrating drugs and advanced CPR to bring him back to life. To succeed, he must not only survive but also be able to remember what was on the other side. If he doesn’t survive it won’t matter anymore, and if he survives but gain no new information about the other side, he’ll repeat the procedure until he does.

Sitting in the chair with various electrodes taped to his chest and head, Jack smiles. He is finally ready. For months he prepared everything to be perfect. He presses the button “GO” still smiling, and that smile vanishes as light vacates his eyes forever.

Dancing

My name is Happy. But I should have been named Lucky. I always loved dancing since I was just a little girl. I twirled and I jumped and waved my hands, and my parents laughed and cheered me on. It thrilled them to watch me dance. They signed me up for ballet, acrobatic rock’n’roll, modern dancing, and any other classes I wanted. They attended every show and competition I took part in, sometimes exhausted from work but always proud to watch me perform. It was a very happy childhood even though we had to leave our home city for a while because of the war. A year and a half we spent at our relatives’ place in the big city. I was happy there too, lots of new friends and many more classes for me to learn how to dance and competitions to show my skills. And even when my parents had a fight with my relatives and we had to leave for the refugee camp, which was in an abandoned military building, I was happy; I got the chance to explore the ugly building with my new friends and go on adventures...

Now I am a grown up, and still very lucky. Me and my boyfriend live in a place of our own. He is studying medicine while I work and provide for us until he finishes and becomes a doctor. His parents are paying his studies, but I pay the rent, the bills and everything else we need. He says I can quit when he finishes school but I don’t know do I even want to quit. I am a stripper and so what? I enjoy myself every day and get paid for my dancing! It’s not like I’m a hooker or something like that. I just dance. If someone gets too handsy the bouncer tosses them out, and I love how men look at me with hunger in their eyes while I dance. Mom and dad don’t like it either. They stopped talking to me a few months ago, but they’ll come around when they cool off and see how happy I am. They always said they only want for me to be happy. And it’s not like it’s forever. I intend to become famous and rich, maybe as an actress or a singer if I can’t earn enough dancing. Or I won’t even need to earn money when my love becomes a doctor and starts making big bucks. I could dance then for fun and pure enjoyment and be a wonderful wife and a mother to our many kids we’ll have. My darling says he wants at least three as soon as we have stability in our lives. I love him. I am so happy!

Failure

What have we done wrong? Is it not crazy enough that Happy shacked up with that mean boy who considers himself smarter than god, now she is stripping too? That must be his idea, he is as bad as a rotten tooth. He lives on his parents’ allowance and that’s not enough for him; he had to make my little girl strip? So he could spend his allowance on booze and drugs and go out every night she is working! He thinks he is so clever, telling her that he is learning while she works. I personally saw him staggering home on many Sunday mornings, so drunk he doesn’t even notice me observing him from my balcony. And I even heard he cheats on her every time he gets the chance, the lousy scoundrel! He tells her all sorts of lies, filling her mind with dreams he never intends to fulfill. He talks to her about a life of leisure and comfort, about children and stability. Like he doesn’t know he can never even finish his studies behaving as he does! And she, my little girl, she believes his every word. She is so mesmerized by his false posing, so in love, she can’t realize we only want what’s best for her. She disregarded our pleads to leave him, and that’s understandable, she is young and she is in love. We hoped, she’ll come around, she’ll see through his mask. But she didn’t, she just stayed stubborn, until the day she declared she’s moving in with him. She didn’t listen to her mother begging her to stay, she didn’t listen to me threatening to never talking to her again. She just smiled and left with the creep!

Now my love is crying in the bedroom, and my only child is God knows where, taking her clothes of. For the pleasure of strangers, perverts, miserable wretches, who can’t hold on to a real woman, so they dream of having my daughter. Sitting here in the living room, not watching the show on TV, I dream of exposing the bastard that took my girl. I am so mad I might explode, I could rip his head off with my bare hands. I can’t allow myself to be sad, so I don’t die from sadness, like it’s killing my wife and my marriage... We survived all the hardships till now, the war, the exile to a strange city and estranged relatives, the loss of our jobs and apartment, everything life threw at our faces. We survived because of love and understanding for each other, and to insure our daughter have a happy life. But now, I don’t know if our marriage can survive this sadness and rage, this unbelievable turn of events. Will we ever be happy again?

The doctor

Happy is a wonderful girl. She made me feel great, and that is what I loved from the beginning. I always knew I was special, better than everybody else, that’s why everyone always rejected me, because of envy. And Happy saw my greatness, my strength and intelligence, it reflected in her eyes from the first time she spoke with me. Every time I look in her eyes I see that fascination and belief in my abilities. And that’s why I won’t leave her no matter what her parents say. They think I am just taking advantage of her, that I’m going to leave and hurt her. I shall do as I promised as I always do. I’ll finish medical school even I if I have to bribe every professor there to let me pass, they are just envious like everybody else, flunking me for the smallest mistakes on every opportunity. They are old and they have failed in their lives, teaching instead of healing, frustrated little people. And I’ll stop drinking when the stress passes, when I finally graduate and am able to start fulfilling my promises. I’ll love her with time, and I’ll love our children, like my parents never loved me. They had enough money to pay for my older brother’s and sister’s education. Mom and dad always had the time and understanding for their problems, they weren’t tired and uninterested as with me. They will be sorry when I succeed, and when I ignore them like they ignored me.

I am sitting in the gutter now, smiling as I fell. It doesn’t hurt, I can’t feel much pain when I’m this drunk. I can barely see, I have to close one eye to focus. I couldn’t even stand it when it was just me failing, how could I stand to be sober knowing Happy is stripping? At least I am coming home early tonight, I won’t have to pretend I don’t notice her judging father on his balcony, despising me for ruining his daughter and her life. I’ll show him too, when I succeed. And I’ll never forget he and his wife tried to brake us apart. Happy doesn’t mind when I drink but I don’t want her watching me in that state, weak and unable to control myself. Another reason to come home early. Maybe I’ll fall to sleep before she arrives from her job tonight. And I’ll dream about a nice life with her at home, taking care of our children, and me saving people’s lives at my job, respected and loved from everyone. I will stop drinking. I will finish school. I will make good on my promises to Happy. And I will be happy!