AGE 15:
Frank Lessing is a regular person, or at least as regular as one could get in this world.
A place of decay, with the only signs of life born from the rotting carcass of the previous generation. The world built out of broken concrete as soil, rebar as plants, and with death having the same smell as a refreshing breeze. The only respite being to break off the cycle: to die. A simple and easy way to walk away from the tortures of the reality Frank was born in.
But he carries on, his brain tired and his body battered, Frank’s just starting his life, and the journey ahead that’s going to take his entire human life to accomplish is already hitting him like a slap on the face.
“Starting my work at 15 years, i have spent time too much!”
“All that time is spent growing up and developing wisdom to create!”
“WASTE! WASTE! ALL OF IT IS WASTE!”
AGE 35:
Resting is a option that he intensely abhors. A productive man must do whatever it takes to keep being productive. And the useless meat sack he calls his body is unfit for the tasks that Frank wants to do. Cells in his physical form always working overtime as it tries to keep up with his mind.
A fragmented man, his search of knowledge, it led him scattered with a divided mind. Frank is able to reconcile with his two alter egos by having intense debates with them, keeping his brain sharp, albeit constantly exhausted. his voice changing tone depending on the current ego in charge.
“Sleep is not required, especially when the reality i yearn for is at hand!”
“The end of Hilbert’s hotel, the plank of wood that determines the true identity of Theseus’s ship, I have found the edge of the Genesis! the everlasting truth that will grant eternity!”
“All i need, is a little more time…”
AGE 56:
Work for half the day, then rest for the other half, how useless! That 50% would’ve been better used to do so much more things, the required curse of sleep to keep the body functioning at the cost of time. As for Frank, he’d rather use that extra time to cheat death.
Franks hands are calloused, a piece of himself that has seen and felt so much more things. Like it’s owner, his hands are one that won’t seem to rest, always fiddling and tinkering as if it’ll rot away if not moving.
“I’m close, so close to godhood! A deity that does nothing but work! a horrible, painful, beautiful, and productive heaven to live off of in eternity-“
“Your theory holds no structure! you have to rethink everything!”
“Don’t listen to him! His foolish brain has been spent being pragmatic and useless, try this equation instead!”
AGE 84:
One is pragmatic and materialistic, one is emotional and optimistic. Frank constantly fights and talks with the two factions of his brain as the two bicker and whine with every small thought and action he may do. a person with a council on his head, debating and arguing on which truth is the truth and only the truth.
Goldbergian machines of increasingly complexity and uselessness, who needs such a network of movement, equations and found objects just to make coffee, such a convoluted and useless way to start his day! For other folks, What Frank might be doing is considered “a waste of time” and “ultimately useless”, and Frank will definitely agree that some of the things he works on is completely for naught. But his pride and ego will not let him say it.
“Just…one…more…detail…”
“the last domino, the final brush stroke.”
“but is it enough? who determines when a work is truly finished? Gigantic, notable holes permeate our work like swiss cheese with all the problems that we have not addressed!”
“time to find out.”
AGE 125:
The bowling ball hits a cushion, sending air to the small car, the slowly moving car then bumps into a empty bottle tied to a string, as the bottle falls, it pulls a ramp up, allowing the marble to roll down a highway of popsicle sticks until it lightly taps on a small switch.
then a sequence of digital numbers and words appears on a black analog screen:
“The Immortality engine, in 5..”
“4…”
“3…”
“2…”
“1…”
The giant machine springs to life, it’s smooth steel exterior rattling intensely as the pieces barely stick together as a concerning amount of energy courses through it’s copper veins. underneath the machine lies a colossal engine with 50 cylinders, roaring and pumping with vigor as it keeps the shaking monolith operational. Five gigantic steel prongs like fingers spring up, moving up and down monotonously. It’s brass gears like metallic muscles spin in different speeds, barely seen underneath the metallic panels that line the hand.
Frank falls down to his knees, his arms that were once strong are now trembling. his legs are now just frail little sticks as he pushes his body with all his life as he makes his way for the cold, metallic palm-like platform of the gigantic metallic hand. His breathing is slowly running out as his lungs start to give in. Eyes struggling to even keep wake as his body slowly runs out of heat.
This is it, one lifetime to just make this work. A gamble that even a entire life spent is still somehow against the odds. Weighing a pitiful 150 years against the scale of infinity itself.
He finally dies, his limp corpse lie as the lights in his eyes dim. but the machine finally springs to life, a abundance of energy directed to the cold lifeless corpse at the mercy of it’s steel palm!
AGE 15:
Frank G. Lessing is a regular person, or at least as regular as one could get in this world.
“Is this the immortality you sought, Frank?”
“no.”
“It’s not perfect, it’s a vicious cycle, like always.”
