The Overman Virus

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
More realistic science-fiction short story. A chronicle of the life of a PHD student who creates a virus which has potential to change the course of history. Pro-man, pro-technology story. Writing and posting it just for fun.

Submitted: December 27, 2011

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Submitted: December 27, 2011

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Preface

The madness all began what seems like long ago. One might say the madness began with the synthesis of a particular strand of genetic material surrounded by a protein coat. But a virus itself such as Ebola does not cause madness in a vacuum does it?—it is the person whom contracts it, weaponizing their body that tears society apart at the seams. Then these people carry on, bleeding from every orifice and spreading it like the plague. Or maybe just like Camus’s The Plague it can all be blamed on the rats and the ticks on the rats. Well, the person to blame for this madness was little more than a tick on a rat. It was all the result of a supercilious PHD candidate named Raj.

But here is the irony—is madness always a bad thing? I think Poe said it best… but I forget now exactly what he said, something along the lines that perhaps all genius is some form of madness. So perhaps, setting the character of the man aside, one cannot judge Raj too harshly. People are always speaking of how things must undergo extreme temperatures in order to be forged. And perhaps without him things wouldn’t have happened as quickly as they did; the destiny of mankind may not have changed so abruptly. Goddamn, I am already getting ahead of myself. I'm too unpracticed for this but I am the only one left who cares about the truth. Everything is coming to a head and I’ve so little time I cannot afford to botch this record. So, being a superfluous element and only incidentally the cause of this document, I will delay a formal introduction of this “Raj” until later. For now, I will focus my exertions on a more interesting character, one might say, the essential hero of the story.

The Overman Virus

Ernst Nietzsche had been born in a small village in Germany and on the day of his birth, at the first sight of him, his mother had known that there was something different, something special about him. Though all mothers may have the tendency to believe this about their newborns, she felt she actually knew it, and this time it was really true. He was different, ever since the moment he had been developed enough to be considered his own person.

Since he was a child he had been on the quiet side with a predilection towards dreaming rather than play. He was always dreaming and thinking to himself. He would think up vast and complex, self-consistent scenarios for why things were the way they were and how things could be instead. Some of these dreams could continue along the same thread for weeks at a time. There was no reason in particular that he spent much of his time engaged in his own head, it was just how he was, his nature, you see. He suffered for this. People lack imagination to such an extent that upon meeting him they immediately concluded that he was slow and therefore had nothing to say. This was especially the case with his school teachers but also with the other children. As a consequence, during his early years, the teachers ignored him and as for the other children, unfortunately, as you can imagine they did not.

The extent to which he suffered from bullying was vast and insignificant. It was vast because Ernst was such a sensitive soul. While little of his time was spent conjecturing about the nature and whims of his peers, he still felt a natural comradery with them. “Of course”, he used to think, “Were both human beings, we should work together. There are lots of things out there which aren’t human beings. Those are the dangerous things like lions and sharks. We should work together to overcome those things. When I watched “Jaws” I was so scared at first. I was so scared at the thought of those big white teeth, rows of sharp white teeth. I was scared when I thought about the pain of those teeth catching my leg and pulling me under; pulling me under into a dark, cold place with nothing but beady, black, unknowing eyes watching me and chewing me. Those eyes didn’t care about anything. Gradually, I became less scared. I realized that on the boat there were men. The men were going to put their minds together and beat the shark. I knew they would beat the shark because they would think and dream. We should work together because the other animals don’t think and dream but we do.” These reflections would sometimes bring a tear to his boy eye as he lay in bed at night, realizing that no one he knew could ever understand what seemed natural and important to him. He knew that if he talked of such things with most of the children the intensity of his physical sufferings would only increase.

I also said the bullying was insignificant; allow me to explain what I mean by that. You see, a dog is merely a dog, a cat—a cat, right? You have never seen a dog that was embarrassed he was a dog and you have never seen a cat with low self-esteem, have you? Well, Ernst was the sort of being who was simply and truly Ernst. Not the slightest trace of neuroticism was present in him, ever. He was always completely satisfied and confident with whom he was and bullying could not get him down on himself. Bullying merely challenged his youthful perceptions of humanity, however, no matter how hard it got, he never stopped believing that man was fundamentally, “the good guy” in the universe.

...TBC


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