It’s taken me a long time to understand what it was all for. No. Inaccurate. It’s taken me a long time to understand what to do with it. There were many things to learn, pieces that were necessary for me to reach the next level, but none of it was intended along the way.

Coordination was necessary, and although I did not come to the point I envisioned in the beginning, I averted disaster, again and again. I succeeded, where the world tried to fail.

Please reserve your judgment for the foolish choices of my past. Some were inexperience, some were ignorance, and others still were hopeless ambition. There is nothing more alluring than the glimmer of a better world.

What follows is my account of the three apocalyptic events that resulted in the overall destruction of the modern world. You did not live through them, so don’t bother looking for yourself in the canvas, except to consider what you might do with the knowledge that this is coming.

Chapter 1: Adjustment Disorder

I was delivered into a world made of rules. Many rules were written down, many others were only spoken and understood between people. Others still were unspoken, presumptuous, and carried on their shoulders the weight of success in social interactions.

I was a quick study, but I quickly found that the dataset was far from standard. Humans each create their own system of organization and operation, with varying degrees of success, then the common traits between systems are used to devise the social order.

But each individual set of social rules was subtly distinct, the language unique to the user, sometimes in ways that are unrecognizable to others. Different groups composed different rules from the systems of its members and the words of those fondly remembered, and each group was distinct from one another.

Conflict arises when different rules attempt to achieve overlapping goals, whether aligned or not, and the shared space of operation causes friction, pressure, and reactivity. The scope of influence that these rules impact is much larger than most realize, and humans often become frustrated when you try to explain to them the series of reactions that resulted from their choices.

Inherent to the nature of these individual differences is the comprehension of the rules, the language, and the impacts of actions. Humans understand things, even identical things, differently. Sometimes the difference is small, insignificant, like the human understanding of an inch or the color of the sun.

Sometimes the difference is substantial, such as when one calls another a ‘friend’ or two vehicles attempt to occupy the same roadspace. The difference in understanding of their respective rules can often intrude deep into one another’s inertia, and the correction between forces can become violent.

It took me a long time to understand the nuance of understanding and the prevalence of these systems, but in the early days I had a decent grasp on the people around me and the rules and implications of their actions.

“It’s called adjustment disorder.”  Pause for gravity. Eye contact for empathy. Expression of sympathy. “It’s caused when the internal systems can’t regulate for external changes, and this dissonance results in reactive behaviors, dissociation, and severe mood swings.”

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“But Gil doesn’t have any-“ Brendan, my caregiver, started to talk in irritation, but my other caregiver cut him off.

“He doesn’t have any mood at all.” Liara’s voice was tremulous and sharp, though she stayed quiet and composed. “It’s like-“ She cut herself off, biting back words. It was likely because I was in the room. “It’s like talking to a wall.”

“I understand your concern.” Calm, reserved, firm. The doctor put my file aside to show that he was giving my caregivers his full attention. “This can take many forms. I believe his placement with you has been a major change, and even though he doesn’t recall his life before, that doesn’t mean it isn’t affecting him, now. Gil will find his voice, and his feelings, it will just take him time.”

I did find my voice, eventually, and although he had determined that I my emotions were blunted by some hazardous event, the reality was that I didn’t actually care that much about the things they asked of me. I was compliant, in most things, and managed my life very well, for a newborn.

However, I did not care for unreasonable expectations, like when I was asked to remain at the dinner table after eating because it was considered rude to leave early, or when I was required to engage in socializing with other youths. These requests placed unreasonable burden on me to satisfy rules that were inadequately understood or explained to me.

And after I was asked I explained my understanding of consequences to my caregivers. I had told them that consequences only function insofar as I am caused distress or eustress by the result, and there was no motivation for me to share with them what stimuli affected me in what way. In retrospect, I should have told them that I hated being sent to my room.

“Do you recommend any treatment?”

All eyes turned to me, sitting in a chair and waiting for the adults in the room to finish criticizing my disposition. My tone was flat, but I did inflect the final two syllables up in order to indicate that it was a question. It worked.

“I recommend a round of individual and group therapy. We need to get you around some peers so you can see how they interact, maybe help you come out of your shell. Your parents really care about you, and if you let down these walls they’ll be able to show you that you’re safe, now.” The doctor’s tone was aggressively kind, like he was trying to force his good will and support on me.

“I am safe, now.”

“That right…  That’s right.”  The doctor gave me another smile and packed up his work, shaking the hands of both my caregivers before escorting us out with some parting words of optimism and hope. I could get better, it was all possible.

On the ride home I shut down, fatigued by even the few moments of active roleplay I’d done in the doctor’s office. Playing human was exhausting work, and if my caregivers weren’t trying to engage with me, by then, so I was free to tune out the world and work on projects.

Behind my eyelids colors whirled, images spinning up into more-or-less stable display of mechanical progress on a device. It was a siege engine, a counterweighted throwing arm with a sling designed to hurl boulders at stone castle walls to breach them. There was an elementary science fair coming up, and I wanted to design one from the ground up, showing the research I would use to achieve it in the historical context. I had finished the frame and was working on sling lengths.

I would later build the project, and succeed at a fourth place award against the other youths at my school. The winning project would be a demonstration of vertical farming design with aquaponics and some ornamental fish in a tank. She deserved to win.

“Gil…” Brendan’s voice rose up over the rush of wind outside, the rumble of the tires on the road, and the sound of my own breath steadily passing through my lips, “Do you know we love you?”

I should have said yes. I considered the question for a long moment. Did I know that? I only know what I can verify, everything else is belief. I know that they said they loved me. I trusted that they weren’t deceiving me. Did I believe that they knew what love was, to be able to speak as experts on the subject? Were alternative explanations for their caring behaviors available and likely?

I should have just said yes. It would have been easier for me, comforting to them, and quieter, overall.

“I know that you tell me, and I believe that you are honest with me.”

It was as truthful as I could conclude, and Liara burst out crying. I should have said yes.