The Y2K17 is finally here
I haven't wrote much lately. The same goes with every other authors in this blog. I can't blame them, really. Or myself. The year of 2016 have been hard on us. One of our authors committed suicide about a month ago. That was unexpected, and grievously sad for all of us. Because it could be any of us.
Before he committed suicide, he posted a status update on his Facebook, and send a message to our emails. Within his message, he didn't address to anyone in particular, only to whom it may concern. A message in a bottle, so to speak.
I will not reveal the content of the message, of course. Because the message somewhat contain an unknown cipher. But I will however, tell his side of the story. So that, to whomever he intended the message for, will know that there is a message for him, and message sender have met his maker. I'm sure the message recipient will know where to find it.
All the authors in this blog, are anonymous to each other. But we all work together because we all share similar interests, and probably the same curse. We are all touched by a measure of depression. In this case, one of us have succumbed.
The Slave
Our friend, our colleague, was known to us only as the Slave. It sounded weird, I know, because it doesn't translate well in English. In his native tongue, his nickname actually means either 'the humble one' or 'the honest worker'. He never wrote on this blog, because he have his own social network under a different name.
I first met him when he approached me about my drawing. Yes, I draw on my free time. I love drawing spaceships and dragons at that time. He told me I have a weird sense of colors, as all my drawings have mismatched colors. A riot, he said.
We both have a taste for art. So we worked together. He was working on a project, a key to his success. No, a key to his freedom. He always joked that he lives his life a wretched one. Though I felt that he was just wanted to laugh out his own pain. Which is normal for the rest of us. We all have our own demon.
The Serpents
What went wrong? I could never know. He never reveal the full scope of his undertaking, but then again, all of us here have our own projects. But I did help him with some software coding, and from what I can gather, he was working on a virtual intelligence interface. Something that able to mimic human intelligence, hence allowing human mind to enter virtual reality. Sounds very grand.
Perhaps that's what attract us all here. In the virtual reality, everyone is free. None is shackled.
It never comes to fruition, I think. I have never seen the prototype. I suppose people hate things that they don't understand. In his case, his family treated him like an outcast. He first complaint was about his own family hindering his progress. And later on, it seems that it escalated into a paranoia.
He told me that no matter what he do, he was unable to access the required instruments to complete his work. He complained that somehow, no matter what he do, it will all ended up with abrupt failure. But not by technical or design failure. It was his sisters.
While he was working on his project, it becomes apparent to him that his sisters have spread a nasty rumors about him. They accused him of many things. And sabotaged his work quietly. This caused his own father and mother to cast him away. Deprived of emotional and material support, his work was faltering.
It got so bad, that he thought of killing of his own sisters. But I told him, that is crazy talk. All that he have been working for would have been for a naught, if he ever committed such atrocities. I advised him to take another approach. Surely, there is a way to deal all of these nonsense.
The Abandoned Road
There were none. He exhausted all of his resources, took every approaches, to the point that he have nothing more left other than his own life. Why was he treated that way? He was brilliant person. How is it possible that a talented man like him, met with such a cruel fate? Perhaps that is how the world works.
As I reminisced down the memory lane, it suddenly gave me a clarity of his chosen nickname. The Slave. He knew, from the beginning, that its impossible for him to be successful. He was born and raised, to be a slave. Just like every other young adults in his corrupt homeland.
A slave are not expected to be successful. A slave are not even meant to be brilliant or have a bright future. A slave feeds the grinder. The meat grinder.
But he railed. He railed against the dying light, and raged against the night. In his defiance, he did succeed on something. Fully functioning, but with no one to operates it. Well, not yet. I suspect someone else will continue his work. Someone 'whom it may concern'.
There is more to Life, as it is to Death
How did I know that he really committed suicide if all the authors here are anonymous with each other? Because we've met each other, and have been in contact, but we never knew each other real name. I may or may not have seen his body in the morgue. His body was not claimed by his family.
From the autopsy report, it seems that he had stabbed his own heart with a knife, and jumped off a cliff, head first. His body was a mangled wreck. But the symbolism was strong even in his death.
Broken heart, broken mind, and broken body.
He may have succumbed, but the rest of us have not. Its not my place to judge whether or not what he did was right or wrong. All I know is that he did it knowingly. Death is nothing, compared to vindication.
Let the serpents feast on the fruit of life, the harvest that they don't deserve. In the end, death claims us all. And nothing escapes God's judgement. The Slave may have been denied the key to Life, but in his death, he have denied his oppressors a forgiveness, the Key to Heaven itself.
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