The Cult Of Galactic Understanding
No! I was sure this would prove my stupid sister WRONG! Now my nose’s bleeding and my Communion Chip won’t.. Stop. Buzzing.
20260202
Written for Bradley Ramsey’s “Flash Fiction February Day 2”.
No! I was sure this would prove my stupid sister wrong!
Will she mourn when she hears what happened to me, or will she just do that grating, superior tut and say something like “Classic Mark”?
Blood’s clotting under my fingernails. I know it’s futile, that the Communion Chip is inside my skull, out of reach, but I can’t. Stop. Scratching. I need the buzzing, that abominable pressure, to STOP.
“I’m sorry!” I scream. Desperately hoping I might be forgiven. Or perhaps this is a test. Or a misunderstanding.
Usually the presence of the Ur-Mind is comforting. It brings focus, clarity, and of course a link to everyone else who’s welcomed the Connection. But right now it feels like I’m somehow alone with it. Cordoned off from everyone else. And being slowly crushed by its gaze.
Furious? Disapproving? Disappointed? Does it even feel emotions like we do?
Perhaps it just sees me as a glitch to be deleted.
Glitch… deleted… data…
Blood’s dripping from my nose. Vision’s blurry. Thoughts are getting harder. But my hands fumble across my desk.
Mary made such a big deal about buying me that retro-styled laptop. Physical keyboard and everything. Lectured me about how humans evolved to have haptic feedback and blah blah blah. Back then I was still trying to make her happy, so I smiled and nodded and even took a touch-typing course with her.
Though I’d never tell her, I do prefer using it over the holo-computer from work. So it was the device I had open when I accessed my Connection log. To prove that the Ur-Mind wasn’t affecting our thoughts, only helping us connect.
I think the log’s still there. I try typing the commands to save it to desktop, then poke the toolbar - thank goodness this isn’t authentic and has a touchscreen, no way I can make out the mouse cursor right now!
Ok. I think the log saved. Next I open the other file on my desktop - my half-finished screenplay. Never going to be finished, now.
Mary would tell me that wasn’t much of a loss to the universe. And damn her, she’s probably right. But I still add text at the top rather than overwriting the contents.
How to put this…
Vision’s almost gone, now. And the buzzing’s turned into a bubbling whine in both my ears. Need to focus. Need to get what I can down fast.
I do my best to type “hacked my communion chip look for signs of mental tampering found them urmind noticed me chip hurts warn people the connection is not harmless repeat not harmless its spying on us and nudging our thoughts trying to get more people to join it wants everyone in the universe to be under its control”.
I… I don’t know if I can hit the ‘save’ shortcut. I close the laptop (thank goodness putting it to sleep is so tactile) and pray someone finds me before its battery runs out.
I’m sorry, sis.
You were right.
Prompt was “In the far future, a new religious group is gaining traction across the galaxy. They are led by a beloved demigod. Write a story about a disciple who discovers a dark truth about their god, one that could threaten the entire universe…”