Day #8: Boutonniere
For the first time in more years than I could remember, I was attending a party — or rather, a formal celebration that actually held meaning for me.
At the entrance, we were given floral arrangements — “boutonnieres,” they were called, or something of the sort. I stopped my Eva424 just in time, just before it could complete the answer to my visual prompt, having noticed that it might be a French term. It was odd, but my personal assistant was still malfunctioning, causing the neural interface to trigger a scent like burnt plastic whenever I prompted anything that might return a French word. That’s why I stopped seeing Claude. I liked the guy, he was kindly teaching me wood carving in exchange for some bow fishing but that sensation was unbearable.
Fortunately, I no longer dared ask about water desalination, as it caused me to collapse face-first to the ground — some issue with losing control of my knees, apparently. I had compiled a list of topics to avoid, which was torturous because my thoughts drifted there anyway. What’s the use of an assistant if it can’t assist? Sure, it helped with most tasks, but it also made me more inept as a human, more dependent on a mere ornament, an implant.
Receiving such an adornment for my vintage tuxedo from a bearded fellow who resembled a younger version of myself — albeit from several, perhaps seven, decades ago — felt peculiar. The only difference was his attire: a floral dress and high heels, complemented by prominent mammal prosthetics. I had never ventured into such fashion, despite the trends. Darker colours suited me, and lacking any implants other than my Eva424, there was nothing flashy about me apart from the scar I got from the bear attack that also damaged my Eva424. I could have had my scar removed, easily, but I liked it. I felt more in touch with my nature, whatever that meant.
“Enjoy yourself, see you around” — he told me, with his altered voice.
I smiled back and left. I couldn’t recall the last time I saw a real woman or heard a feminine voice that wasn’t AI-generated or anyway coming from a speaker.
At least pronouns weren’t an issue anymore, we were just dudes.
Nobody knew what truly happened, but suddenly, the few births worldwide ceased to produce female infants. We were now dependent on our clones — I was on my fifth iteration. I was one of the youngest once again. Exciting but demeaning at the same time.
We were constantly told how useless we were as men, that the world was female, that we needed more diversity here and there and when the problem completely reversed, when men became the minority and were even stripped the right to vote, and to father their own children — nature, fate, or perhaps some unspeakable design, intervened to change the course of events.
We were gathered to celebrate something monumental, far surpassing the AGI “standby” which we had marked with an even grander festivity than its “birth”. That day, one of the era’s most intelligent and repeatedly cloned individuals — then on his seventeenth iteration, having consistently sought the extremes of human capability with his body and mind, only to self-destruct each time — had made breakthroughs that now simplified our existence. On that day, he was to be reborn as a female, having figured out a way to alter his own chromosomes and artificial womb. Our boutonnieres, placed near our hearts, symbolized this hope somehow. At least that was the genius’ idea. Who was I to question it?
The world as we knew it was poised for radical change, once more. That. I was celebrating.
Join My Journey: One Shot, One Story
Each day unfolds with a single random image from Unsplash, sparking the creation of a story.
Why?
This ritual is not merely about storytelling; it’s a pathway to a legacy I’m building for my children, something I wish I received from my parents instead of “stuff” — a book that delves into the intricacies of mistakes, healing, pain, success, and the shifting sands of societal values.
This narrative explores the devaluation of human virtues, the nuances of grift and speculation, addiction, the evolving roles within society, the impact of feminism, leadership, and the vital importance of responsibility and accountability.
Cool, but who for?
It’s a story meant to answer questions that distant relatives, whom I’ve never met or fallen out of touch with, might ponder about our shared lineage and the world that shaped us.
As a devoted father, this endeavour is my beacon, guiding the legacy I wish to leave behind. Writing, in a language that wasn’t my first, presents a unique challenge — one that I tackle with stoic determination. It’s an effort to break barriers, to communicate more profoundly, not just with my immediate family, but with anyone on a journey of self-discovery and growth.
But who are you anyway?
With a background in engineering, entrepreneurship, investments, and a heart that beats for art, beauty, and nature, I am deeply passionate about technology, history, psychology, and uncovering the layers of what makes things ‘weird.’ Above all, I’m a family man, a software artisan committed to lifelong learning, eager to share the insights gleaned from my quest to minimise regrets.
Follow my journey here and on X, let’s connect even if you simply want to tell me how much my content sucks. I’d love some honest feedback!