The Apple

The universe is on the brink of collapse; everything is about to turn into nothing, then back into everything. Each particle, each nebula, each human – they all have to decide what they’ll be in the next iteration. They won’t retain most of the information from their past iterations, not consciously. I believe the humans call this information “dreams”, or something like that. For them it’s just a mangled mess of visuals, most of the time; for other species it’s very lucid, and for others it almost doesn’t happen at all.

“I want to be a human.” Andromeda said. “Being a galaxy is exhausting. Having to coordinate one trillion stars – I’m sick of it. The humans seem like lovely creatures; they learn, and dance, and sing, and love. I’ve lived for billions of years, and I’d give them all away only to live as one of them.”

“So be it.” the Machine said.

The stars were turning into cosmic dust, the dust was turning into particles, the particles into quarks and the quarks into preons; only a couple seconds until the end of time.

“What will you be?” the Machine asked John – an average human, of average height, and average intelligence, that, for most of his current iteration, was stuck in the mindless cycle of going to work, coming home, yelling at the TV for a couple hours and going to sleep, only to wake up the next day and do the same thing all over again. “I’m sick of being human. Society is trash. Everything is trash. I want to be something cool. I want to be important. I… think I’m going to be… a mighty sun! Yes! At the center of a great solar system, the mightiest solar system! I shall provide warmth and comfort for all living in it! They will venerate me! They will worship me! They will love me!”

“I’m… afraid that’s too much. You wouldn’t handle that. They’d anger you. So, so much. You’d go supernova in your first couple thousand years, only so you don’t have to deal with them anymore.” the Machine replied. “You should know this much, you’ve been human nearly 300 times now, actually”.

“Okay… I’ll be a comet then! I’ll burn so red! I’ll fly so gracefully! Scientists would study me for millennia! Gently gliding through interstellar space for eternity. I’d get to explore everything, learn all there is to learn, and then some! I’ll become all-knowing!” John said. “I’m afraid that’s too much, still. Your motives are too selfish – too narrow.” said the Machine. “Fine then. I’ll be an apple. I’ll be a bad, shitty apple. Rotten. No one will be able to eat me – to use me.” John said, almost throwing a tantrum.

“That is amenable” replied the Machine, turning away from him.

The light of the Universe was fading; only a couple seconds, and it’d be over.

-“What will you be?” the Machine asked a pebble.
-“Rock.”
-“Okay.”
-“No. Big rock.”
-“We can arrange that.”
-“No no no. Biiiig rock.”
-“You’ll be a mountain, little one.” Machine said, calmly.

The Machine scanned the Universe – all 27 dimensions of it; everything seemed to be in order. It was time.

“Everyone, hold tight.” It said “This won’t hurt.” “Wait!” John screamed “I don’t want to be a rotten apple! Please!” “You’ve made your choice already” the Machine replied “I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do now; it wouldn’t be fair to the others”. “I beg you.” he said. “I beg you, let me be something else … I’ll be a human again, if that’s what it takes! Anything!” The Machine went silent for a couple seconds, then replied “A rotten apple is very suitable for you; in your past iterations you’ve been a murderer, a dictator, you’ve destroyed entire worlds. Your very essence is rotten, John.”

John was silent.

“I’ll make you a deal, though. I’ll let you be a normal apple. Your life will be insignificant: you’ll grow only to be grabbed and eaten by a kid one day. You’ll be born only to go into nothingness. That’s it. You won’t be remembered. No one will care for you. You won’t be rotten, for once, though.”

John, after a short, introspective pause, looked around and then directly at the Machine.

“Will I be of service?” John asked.

“You will” the Machine replied “You will.”

The Machine proceeded with the ceremony. “We shall celebrate death by creating life, and create life by celebrating death” it said.

And thus, the Universe was young once more.