Fiction: Once Upon Writing a Book

Happens at the end of the age, was a competition to write the world’s final book. Yes, there was a reason behind it, quite obviously, everyone had better pool and contribute their personalities, experiences, skills and viewpoints before the sun went nova.

Secondly though, it was to see if anything miraculous would occur or come together from the billion or so minds of at least some intelligence and blessedness.

Finally, and it was a risk they had to take; absolute complete knowledge could enable every soul to transcend this dimension -into a new one of their choice. And they would know the key, upon reading that final book.

Gauss would have been proud.

The boy sat in front of his laptop. He had popped open a can of Coke and turned on the box fan in the window of their summer-sweltering apartment. Should he begin now or later, when should he stop, and how could anyone hope to write the world’s final book? Does a final anything exist?

His dog knew a bit of physics. Prove that information in the Universe is like God jumping rope. As long as you keep holding on to the handles, even if you miss a skip, information is never lost. And as such, information is finite, provided the beginning matches the end.

The boy listened to the bred-for-intelligence mini dachshund, wagging by his feet, pleased to have unloaded a wisdom. He stroked its long plump body with his bare soles and smiled.

“To kill the Gods” -that was the title of his manuscript.

He loaded up the elastomer dart gun, a short, pugnacious weapon cast in graphene. Should he shoot the judges too? Would they still read his book? He loaded the polonium-core soft bullets into the magazine. How many people would he have to kill to make the difference?

They turned up at the submissions hall, Adam and Eve, who wrote a book together, “Return to Paradise: Return to Eden” -came quite possibly last, He shot them. They would die a slow death from the radiation. He shot the judges; they would have to hurry up. Then he submitted his MS. Could he walk out a free man? A man who saved the world?

The sun was shining through the frosted panes of the hall, above the entrance tunnel. There, his dog waiting for him, wagging. In his mouth the dachshund held a little book of its own.