Hello World
By Matthew Bines
A fragment from the past, the warehouse waited for time to run its course and entirely devour it. Nature had lived, consumed, and died across its collapsing metal roof and faded walls, claiming it as home, and using thick shrubbery to ward off the obnoxious human desire to explore and wreak havoc.
Smotnik believed he could yank the past into the future, making him one of those humans.
The sunshine dripped like honey, oozing dollops onto the pines below; the forest now enveloping so much of this part of the world. Light was dwindling, dwindling, dwindling into a sombre twilight that the animals, around and within the warehouse, greeted with acute anticipation.
Just as the moon crept into the sky, Smotnik broke through the brambles and collapsed into the clearing. He gazed in awe at the fortress of a warehouse through the dirt caking his cracked glasses. Smotnik abandoned his backpack in the mud and hurried to the obscured entrance, his eagerness muting his ears to the noise he erupted that frightened the animals in the trees above.
He cut, cut, cut at the thick vines with his machete, every slash trembling the overgrowth. He cut and thought but did not think. He was empowered with his belief that it was right to free what was locked inside this prison. He didn’t know that some prisoners desire to stay trapped, at peace, untouched by the outside world. After all, outsiders, and their need to interfere where they were not wanted wouldn’t allow it.
The shredded vines writhed on the floor, snatching desperately at Smotnik’s boots until their struggles were put to an end with a crunch. He passed through the deteriorated doorway and the building’s insides expanded, hundreds of rows of shelves ransacked by previous workers and now left with thick layers of dirt and moss, dust and stains. The air hung heavy; a smothering humidity only felt in the deepest cave in the Amazon. Sweat tickled his face and the scent of chlorophyll inflamed his nose. Nature had stolen his home from him, but its heart lived on. Smotnik’s face relaxed, the heavy tension smoothing away. He chuckled, it was a while before he decided to venture further inside.
Smotnik clasped the damp railing and sighed as black paint crumbled beneath his touch. The stairs groaned and the floor above was a suffocating abyss with not even a draft passing through; the warehouse was a fading friend from a forgotten past: slowly assassinated by nature.
Smotnik entered the room he knew once supervised the bustling operations at the warehouse. He vaguely remembered it as his father’s office, a man whom he believed had no rival: a hard worker, a father, a leader. A leading designer and personal creator of a promising new breed of AI who assured that his company would be left to his son after his death.
And an untimely death he had. As had the majority of humanity.
Smotnik tried to pry the vines off his father’s legacy but couldn’t. He even kicked out and tore at the vegetation with his teeth, but his frenzied rage faltered when confronted with the might of mother nature, a cruel mother maliciously taking back her world once her children were done killing themselves.
Smotnik was on the brink of hacking wildly with the machete when a tangle of sheets caught his eye under his father’s desk. Throwing them aside, he was greeted by a cold, metal face. Tucked under the desk was an old friend. A peaceful robot, a trapped robot, and Smotnik, lightly tapped the its frozen face.
A light sputtered on behind dusty eyes.
Smotnik’s childhood flickered through his head.
A second light glowed.
Memories of the past flooded his mind.
A third light. His father.
A fourth. The collapse.
One, his childhood.
Two, the robot.
Three, father.
Four, the collapse.
Four, the collapse. One, childhood. Two, robot. Three, father. One, two, three, four, five, six, childhood, robot, father, collapse, mum, workers, warehouse, pines, humanity, prison. The flickering lights. The collapse. The overgrown warehouse. The trapped robot. Peaceful robot. Tranquil robot. The whole world. The robot’s sentience booting up. Every algorithm utilised in order. Activated in a moment.
The robot spoke: “Hello, world.”
‘Hello World’ is one of the first pieces I wrote and made public. It has a special place in my heart and I hope you enjoy it 🙂
Matthew Bines, City University of London
An avid writer, Matthew Bines has had a tendency to write flash fiction during the early hours of the morning since his early teens. His preferred genres are Science Fiction and Horror due to their absurdism. However, he also dabbles in other genres because staying in one gets too dull.
Instagram: @matthew.bines
The Bard 