Yeah, so I've written a short story after donkeys ages. Its the first draft, so rip it to shreds, why don't you. Its a product of my twisted sense of...humour? I don't think I'd call it that. Anyhow, see how you like it. Its also got a tribute to one of my favorite people, ever. Figure out whom, its pretty obvious.
Art had come a long way in the twenty-first century; whereas earlier, artists had to use a medium to convey their emotions, or indeed, to provoke emotion amongst their patrons, today, that simply was not needed. The creativity of an artist earlier was annulled if he had not the talent to transfer that creative thought onto a medium, be it a canvas, an instrument, the written word, or even the great expanse offered by the Cinema. The twenty-first century offered all those creative minds, with no talent whatsoever to give art to the world, in its purest form possible. Sometime during the early 20’s came a brilliant new technology, which allowed people to directly experience another human’s emotions, thoughts, and ideas through a wonderful new technology called Mindstorm. Brain scanning technologies had been around for a long time, what Mindstorm had accomplished was interpretation. It allowed full access into the thoughts of whoever was plugged in, and thus allowed a completely new medium of expression: The Human Mind.
Earlier, art itself was restricted to directly stimulating a maximum of a couple of the human senses, be it visual, audio, or, tactile. Mindstorm allowed artists to express themselves in every single sense simultaneously, as long as they managed to conjure up the required thoughts. Thus, the newest, highest profile artist of all became the Mindsmith. A good Mindsmith had the ability to control his thoughts, his ideas to such an extent, that while conveying one single story, one idea, he could supply his audience with a complete sensory experience, stimulating all five senses in tandem, and thus going further than any artist before.<>Now, this was an exceptionally tough art to master, because, while it required only creativity, it required a hell of a lot of it. Most people didn’t want to see staid, old images of knights in shining armor, or walks in the rain, or the taste of a pinacoloda. Originality had become a premium good, and the few Smiths who could pull it off consistently were some of the richest men on the planet. With the widespread usage of the internet, and the obvious computer connection of Mindstorm, it had become the most popular art form of the time, and the top artists had audiences that could extend into the billions.
Of these artists, the greatest was Noel Damas. He had realized one of life’s great truths that it is harder, and more rewarding to make man laugh, than to make him cry. Tearjerkers were easy in Mindstorm, but it took a true genius to create comedies, and to create an experience that left one with that warm fuzzy feeling inside. He was a man who loved nature, and drew heavily from the works of art present in his garden. His reputation for excellence had grown over the last ten years, and when he decided to publish a new Storm, pretty much the whole world logged on to check it out. They were brilliant, vividly imaginative, and a product of his permanently cheery, exuberant personality. Well, he had reason to be, he had pretty much the perfect life, in a very disturbed world.
He was materially well off, he was healthy, loved good food, had a bounty of friends, and of course, had the perfect relationship with his wife, and greatest source of strength.
Anyhow, back to the point. Noel had decided to broadcast after nearly half a year, and his webmasters had spent the last month publicizing the event. The world was primed for a great new Damas Mindstorm, and from the previews, it promised to be a humdinger. This was one of his great wild adventures, which seemed to end with no relation to where they started from, and yet had a twisted, roundabout way of saying how wonderful life was. This was just the thing people wanted, as people had just got a lot more upset over the last 30 years. Everyone blamed the Lawyers and Politicians, and quite frankly, they were right. It was their entire fault. But that’s another story.
The day before the broadcast, Trehan, Damas’ webmaster and best friend, got the news that Mrs. Damas had been hospitalized, following a car accident, and was currently in coma. Damas had locked himself in seclusion in preparation of his broadcast, and could not have been reached at that time. Trehan was instructed to inform Damas immediately the next day.
Trehan decided not to. There was too much at stake. The broadcast was going live to over two billion homes, and even though it was next to free, with only one dollar per view being charged, that was still a whole lot of money, which he was not willing to risk. He decided to tell Damas after he finished, ensuring that his mood wouldn’t get spoilt.
Did I mention that Trehan had a law degree? But let us not tarry with such matters, and get on with the story. The lure of money changes the best of us, and had blinded our webmaster for that moment. At any rate, he had rationalized that worrying about Mrs. Damas would get him nowhere, as she was in a coma, and unlikely to come out of it anytime soon.
Damas reappeared from his room later that day, after fully preparing himself. He was in a jovial, bouncy mood, and had the perfect story ready to share with the world. Flashing Trehan a million dollar smile, he entered the Mindstorm Machine, and began hooking himself up. At that moment, Trehan’s phone rang, with a grim voice at the other end informing him that Mrs. Damas had just passed away, due to severe head injuries suffered during the crash.
Looking across at Damas, who seemed to be like the only kid in a candy store, Trehan could bear it no longer. Just before they went live, Trehan broke the news to him.
Ten seconds later, they went live, and half the world cried.
Liked it? Hated it? I liked it.
Could do with a good few improvements, though.