In Loving Memory of the Earth

THIS IS A LIVE BROADCAST PUBLIC ANNOUNCEMENT FROM THE ASSOCIATION OF GALACTIC FOOD:

(Something is unwound and rewound)
"Don't be afraid, call Tracy's(version 4.2 from dimension zero) League of Soul-eaters for 24/7 planet protection from total destruction, and sleep well tonight!"

The sound is cut off.

Words appear:

EARTH-An odd little spect amidst the other heavenly bodies. Strange and beautiful things happened there. It had all the potential to be great, it had everything it needed to thrive in harmony; perfect conditions for life, the shadow the spirit cast down in matter.

The words fade and the show starts.

     IN LOVING MEMORY

We find ourselves in outer-space looking at the earth from a distance. The picture frame zooms in. A sleepy town by the name of Tahon on an newly discovered continent in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean takes center screen. Only nature moves as the zooming intensifies. We focus on a remote cabin somewhere deep in the wooded area surrounding the town.
Just before we break through the roof and look inside the life of Sim Dop Harris the fourth, we hear loud tapping coming from within. Fast with only a second or two break every now and then.
Inside, mountains of printed paper dominated, towering a few inches away from the ceiling. A slight break in between the paper towers started from the front door to the back of the cabin; the source of the tapping, a man dressed only in his underwear wind-mill-headbanging as he typed furiously on the keyboard before the computer screen.
Sim Dop Harris the fourth was the chosen one, the most prolific writer to ever grace the land. He moved to his own beat, writing stories that helped the unfortunate, healed the sick, and gave peace to the restless. The world knew of or read his passages, and they gave good scores.

The people didn't know, they supported the universe's worst operating system right into power. They did nothing to stop him from writing; soon he would cross the threshold of the natural flow of reality and override it with his own writing.

The moment arrived.

Radical changes to universe. In the world of his current story, Mogo-Daba, a desert planet filled with sand-monsters and picture-still vast landscapes, the entire population roamed, afraid and confused.
They became characters in his story, and for first time they felt how vulnerable and how dependent in the things they took for granted they really were. How they used each other to define themselves, to create their own personal worlds.
They were alive, overlapped energy, mushed together inside a story. They wanted freedom, they had desire, caused a painful surge in Sim's brain.
The wind-mill-headbanging stopped. Bare teeth, eyes red, Sim kept typing.
What is this sharp pain in my head? It feels like my skull and skin is too small for my brain, like it's going to explode!
Maybe my brain has had enough of this. I don't stop, and my robot makes sure I take my pills by putting them in my mouth itself. Those pills give me everything I need to keep going, without them I would die and end my misery. Why don't I stop Sparky from coming in?

    (YELLING FROM PAIN) 

What is the matter? I'm working, not comtemplating suicide! I don't understand where this pain in my head is coming fr-

      (MORE YELLING) 

This is all pointless, in the end it doesn't even matter! I will die just like everyone else. Why do I even waste my time? No one gives a flying fuck about my goddam stinking stories. They don't even read anymore these days. I'm so dumb, I'm still writing maybe I should stop and block the doors.
The depression, caused by the new characters, ran deep and quick.
Sim removed his fingers off the keyboard, hovering over it while moving as if he were still typing.

Free falling, everyone, free falling in blank unknown.

Increased pain, Sim spun around in his chair. A robot, designed to run on a track from the outside to the computer, with one bright green light, served as an eye on the chest, greeted Harris the fourth.

"Where do you think you are going Mr. Harris? You have much work to do, take your pills and get back to work."
"I don't want my pills, sparky, I just want to be alone from now on. No more pills for me."
"You will die sir, you cannot do this."
"I'll show you what I can do." He walked past the robot, reached out the door, pulled a lever. Sparky rolled past, back outside.
"You do realize we are not in the woods of Tahon, or are we Mr. Harris?"
Sim half-closed the door, looked at the backdrop. What is the point of all this? I don-wait a minute, this is-this is Mogo-Daba. He slammed the door shut.
"There's no running from duty Mr. Harris."
I've lost all my marbles. I'm not seeing things right, I've been away from the outdoors for so long, the screen and my visions is all I know now. I must get some sleep, get some real rest, get some real food. No pills, no pills. Fuck, I don't even have a bed. He lay down in the narrow space, over the track, closed his eyes. The ultra depression genetic code, hidden before, now comes out to experience the flesh.

Inside a see-through container in a museum in a far away galaxy, a unfinished word document floated in mid-air. Purb Bongo-wunbo, an sentient slime creature, jiggled in placed as it ingested fried human brains. "It says, 'IN LOVING MEMORY OF THE EARTH. CAUSE OF DESTRUCTION: THE CURRENT TIME OPTION PROGRAMMER TOOK A NAP AND NEVER WOKE UP AGAIN'.....Whoa man righteous, that's so lame, what a dumbass."

Other walks of life wandered about in the museum quietly in reverence as they stared at artifacts from lost civilizations throughout the universe.

     END OF BROADCAST

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