The radio is on. It is tuned to a pirate radio station playing an angry man's voice, denouncing the advance of technology. An old woman sits and listens, her heart weak and her knees sore. She is dying from the inside out, of a disease that she refuses to have treated due to a religious mania. The woman coughs, and listens intently to the man. She whispers an amen when she agrees with him.
"I watch this world. I'm not a part of it all too often. Truly I say to you, the world is simply a large teleplay.
Can you take a moment, and look at humanity in a purely objective light? We are separating. We are destroying the things that make us human. That make us real."
Jimmy walked down the street with his head in his jacket so as to keep the cold away. His ears are filled with music from his Ipod, even as his friends are attempting to speak to him. He doesn't hear them, and he doesn't want to. If they want to talk to him, he thinks, they can message him on facebook later. He does, after all, spend most of his free time online.
"They say that as technology advances, we are bringing ourselves closer to each other, the world is becoming smaller as communication increases. While the second statement is true, in an obviously figurative sense, the first is wrong in the greatest possible sense. We are NOT bringing ourselves closer to one another. I suggest that we are doing exactly the opposite."
Jimmy got home, took a soda from the fridge, and walked past Gramma, who is listening to her radio. She never watches television. She thinks it's the devil's machine. He gave a quick hug to his mother, who is working on her laptop. She mutters a hello, and continues with her management of her company's finances. As always, Jimmy thought. He wouldn't have it any other way; though he's not aware of this.
"Mothers, daughters, sons. We are all falling apart! We don't have any care for one another. We are so far away, on our laptops and Hindindoo machines, our cell-phones and our Ipods, that we don't even feel the need to speak anymore. We! Are! Losing! Our! Humanity!" The old woman whispers an amen.
Jimmy turns on his computer monitor, the image of a scantily clad woman set as his background. He turns on the internet, signing onto Facebook immediately (It being set as his homepage). He has twelve new messages. He has a small burst of happiness in the middle of his chest, a feeling of pride that people are speaking to him. He matters. He has friends.
"Nuclear war is a thing of the past. What we are most afraid of now is the thing that would save us! We are afraid that our computers will shut down. And I don't mean our personal computers alone, haha; no, I am speaking of the computers that run EVERY MOMENT OF OUR LIVES. The computers run the machines. The machines make the computers. The computers being built run machines to destroy other machines. The computers run our cars, our phones, our buildings, our planes, our games, our goddamn toilets!"
Paul sits on the couch, drooling (though he doesn't know it). Spongebob Squarepants is on, his favorite program. The phone is ringing, though he has no desire to answer it. He doesn't want to miss the television. The security company is calling to inform the family that their house has been broken into. Paul doesn't hear it. Paul's paying attention to more important things.
"We're going to die. All of us. And do you know how? We're going to watch television 'till our brains are mush and our bodies are jelly."
Grant saw the little rich boy, home alone for whatever reason (most likely his parents at work making a dishonest living, the motherfuckers are embezzelers, he's sure). Easy picking, and with a house like this the parents more than likely have a shitload of cash. Grant picked the lock on the back door, and carefully opened it. He wasn't aware that the silent alarm had been tripped, nor was he aware that it would make a shit's worth of difference that it had. The phone rang, and he froze. It kept ringing. Grant relaxed.
Paul saw the man out of the corner of his eye, his ten-year-old brain registering it just into to make a small muffled cry as Grant covered his mouth and nose with a cloth soaked in chloroform. Grant left a small ransom note on the table as he carried the boy over his shoulder out the back door.
"You wanna hear about the end of the world? Well, we're watching it now. We're watching it on television."
Approximately two light-years away, a group of rather peaceful, though curious, extraterrestials observe the behaviour of life on planet 73-57-90584002. After careful observation, they deem that an extremely intelligent race once dwelt on the planet, but somehow died out. They deem that a primitive species has developed an understanding of the machines left behind on the planet, but only in the most primitive sense. The head Xenologist decides that it's not worth the trouble to attempt communication with the creatures.