I parked in my spot in front of the office, greeted the doorman, and entered the elevator. On the way, I grabbed a newspaper, but there was nothing interesting in it, so I threw it away. I entered our department’s room, and before me unfolded a familiar scene. I’d title it something like: “My colleagues, sitting at their computers.” This sight sometimes annoyed me terribly, simply because I saw it every day. I made myself a coffee and sat in front of the computer. At the moment, I was expected to work on a project for software that could think independently. Or something like that. The task came yesterday and was so unclear that I even gave up trying to understand it and spent the whole day reading random stuff on the Internet.
{.note}There’s no point in developing artificial intelligence—there are enough real ones, who aren’t being used for anything.
My colleagues weren’t much more oriented than I was, but I knew that this would soon change, because unlike me, they were capable of adapting to what was asked of them. Every time we started a project, they would start getting interested in the field we had to work in, and talk about it during breaks. And if we worked long enough, some of them would even change as people, depending on the circumstances. It seemed to me that the better a person mastered this skill, the more diligently and confidently they worked, held a higher position, and generally, Darwin’s theory applied very much universaly for the people’s rise in the corporate hierarchy and the melting away of their individuality: The corporate machine always wants more and more (and more complicit) agents. It wants more power, more influence on society, it wants its fucking logo on every surface on the planet, that kind of stuff. So if you accept to play, you will be powerful…
I wanted to be powerful too, simply because I had too many issues that could be fixed with some power (don’t worry you’ll find out). My issue was that in the same way in which the machine wanted more, my mind wanted to have less and less to do with it. I wanted to ultimately go live at the woods. Only, I didn’t realize that it is possible.
There were ten minutes left until the end of the workday, and my script was empty as a brain operated on by lobotomy. “You can’t commit it like that.” – I told myself. – “That would mean officially admitting you haven’t done any work.” I took a deep breath and typed a few lines of code, but they were so wrong that I couldn’t even answer the question why they didn’t work. I tried again. “Why?” now even on the second symbol. And every letter my hand touched spawned thousands of questions, which I couldn’t even grasp, let alone answer.
I got up from my computer and decided to walk. “It’s clear you won’t finish anything today.” I thought while putting on my jacket.
On my way out, I turned one last time to the monitor and for a second started to get uncontrollably irritated at the sight of the empty file.
I grabbed the keyboard and lifted it over my head, intending to throw it to the other end of the room, or even hit the monitor with it. But then my anger at not having done anything all day disappeared in favor of the desire to do something, the next day. So I carefully put the keyboard back in its place, and prepared to leave with the idea of going to bed early, to wake up early. I became interested. And just before leaving the room, I turned, brought my hand to the keyboard, and entered into the file exactly one symbol. The symbol “X”
I saved it like that, then turned off the computer and headed to the elevator. A couple-three of my colleagues got in with me (the ones who didn’t stay late at work) and together we traveled the distance from the top floor to the ground floor, having mundane conversations (“This building isn’t bad”/“Didn’t you hear they’re moving the office.” “Where? Hopefully it’s easy to get to.”). The doors opened, and I found myself outside. And it was then, just as I took my first breath of air that is not processed by the AC, when I saw what I actually want to tell you about.
Here’s what I saw then: from one of the slopes of Vitosha came concentrated light, similar to a laser. It was directed straight up and was so strong that it went through the clouds, and I couldn’t see where it ended. At first I didn’t ask about the source. Because no one else was doing it, I decided that everyone else knew what this was and I was once again the last idiot who is the last to know what’s happening. Soon, however, I realized I wasn’t just me – my colleagues were also looking in the direction of the light just like I was.
“Did they mount some kind of spotlight there?” I was instinctively trying to hide my excitement, so as not to look weird in front of my colleagues.
“It’s definitely not a spotlight. Or at least I haven’t heard of a spotlight whose light is distributed like that.”
“Well, maybe they made one.”
“Well, there’s only one way to find out.” I said. But my colleagues were already speeding off towards their cars, so I did the same.
A little later I took another glance of the mountain, and for a few seconds before the horn from the car behind me made me turn my head forward and continue. This repeated a few times, until finally my curiosity prevailed and I hit the brakes. Dozens of horns honked behind me like a choir, and with difficulty I parked the car so the others could pass.
The air was cold and damp and the wind whistled in my ears. I crossed the mental border of the city (where the asphalt ended), and started walking across the meadow to the highway. When I estimated I was close enough, I looked up at the mountain.
The light was still there. Instantly all my theories, with which I had explained its origin, evaporated. I felt how infinitely big the world is (or how small we are). one part of me filled with curiosity, another – with raw fear, which I assume engulfed people even before we became homo sapiens. Because the light didn’t come from Vitosha and wasn’t directed at the sky. It was exactly the opposite.
The beam was strong, and at the same time concentrated. I could see its end clearly: a large area of the mountain with a radius of about a hundred meters, which was illuminated so well that I had the feeling I could count the grass blades and pebbles there. Its beginning, however, wasn’t visible—it passed through the clouds, and its primary source was lost there among the stars.
From the long staring, my head started to hurt. I knew too that my eyes could get damaged, but I couldn’t tear them away from it, and when my gaze got used to it, it was the only thing I saw. Gradually I started to accept the Phenomenon – I couldn’t explain it, but I accepted it, as I accepted everything else that I didn’t understand. Then the light intensified, and besides the big beam, two more smaller ones came from the sky. One of them was directed somewhere far away among the blocks of Sofia. The other – onto me.
The moment the light enveloped me, I felt a very strong headache, which was apparently connected to it. The pain signaled my body to move aside and I took a few steps forward. To my surprise, the beam started expanding its range, first enveloping the highway I drove on, along with the houses built around it, then the whole city. Afterwards – even faster. I realized I could hear the voices of people, which were illuminated by the beam. Students studying for an exam. An elderly man and woman watching TV. The speech of millions of people merged into one slightly annoying buzz.
My new abilities intoxicated me and made me feel like some higher form of life…. But this, was only for a few seconds (the best in my life!), because then the light intensified even more, and everything became white again. I stumbled on the ground from pain. And when I got used to it again, the only thing I saw were tunnels. And, if we accept it wasn’t already, here it really becomes difficult to tell.
I stood up, and tried to brush off the dust, but my hand passed through my body. Apparently I had transferred to a place that wasn’t material. The houses and people around me had disappeared, and were replaced by endless winding paths, forming a huge labyrinth. I sat for a bit to look at the landscape—the surroundings seemed familiar. I had the feeling that I had visited this place before, and many times, but I couldn’t remember when, and on what occasion. I shrugged and set off along one of the tunnels.
As soon as I stepped into it, the first of a series of memories invaded my head. The peculiar thing about these memories was that they weren’t about things that had happened to me, but rather about things I had thought about. This one specifically was from my childhood, but I didn’t remember the time or place. Instead I could crystal clearly reconstruct the reasoning I had back then, done with elementary child logic. They were general reasonings — like what does mom do at work, or why don’t they let me come with them, but at that time these things were apparently important to me. The more I advanced through the tunnel, the clearer I remembered the thoughts that had passed through my head at that given moment. I advanced in my reasoning faster and faster, until finally, I couldn’t continue, because my child logic reached an irresolvable contradiction. At the same moment, the tunnel ended. And that wasn’t a coincidence—the contradiction was the wall that marked the end of the corridor. And with my expanded vision, I sensed the other people, as before, each of them locked in their own labyrinth. Each bumping into its walls. Alone.
I stepped into more tunnels, hoping to escape, but the more recent the memories were, the more walls there was. In the last tunnel – the one I had hollowed out a few hours ago – the contradictions were more than in the others, and I spun in it like a fish in an aquarium. And new contradictions constantly appeared, narrowing the tunnel, and making me feel claustrophobic. The light became darkness. I felt there was no way out.
This state lasted for some time, whose duration I can’t determine, because I have no reference point to measure it by. But then the surrounding world again became accessible to my perceptions. Little by little I started regaining the sensation of my body, and in the darkness dozens of small lights began to appear. I smiled mentally. These lights were a signal that my eyes were fine. And besides, a few of them were arranged in a way that seemed damn familiar from somewhere.
Soon I could also feel the force of gravity, as a result of which I concluded I was in a lying position. Gradually I started feeling my arms and legs, the pain began to subside, and the lights I saw became stronger and stronger. And I remembered where I had seen it – it was the constellation “Ursa Major.” I was lying on the Earth’s surface. The strange figures and light were now only in my memories. I felt simultaneous relief and disappointment that everything was over.
I got up from the ground and looked around. The landscape around seemed familiar and at the same time strange, as if entering my apartment for the first time after a two-week vacation. With a little thought I remembered where I had come from, and set off to return. I almost ran to the first house that crossed my gaze, and pressed the bell for a long time. A man around fifty opened. The same one I had seen a little while ago.
“The light! Did they figure out what it is!? Did they say anything about it on the news?”
“No, they didn’t say anything on the news,” The man said slowly. “And now would you please remove your car from my garage!”