Those who believe in evolution thought that it had somehow gone berserk. Those who did not, saw the phenomena as the wrath of God.

Or something like that.

The first, shall we say victim, was seen as an aberration of nature. Something went wrong during gestation, they surmised.

The child was isolated.

The parents were separated not only from their child, not that they had formed any attachment to such a grotesque freak as was their child, but also from everyone else. A precaution, they were told. Just in case.

Scientists studied the child and the parents ad nauseum in an effort to discover what genetic mutation, what toxic behavior or environmental hazard could have caused such a horrible fate.

Some blamed big business, because of course, big business.

Others blamed secret government dealings with aliens.

Some suggested it was the science community itself at fault. That the infant was developed in a lab and substituted for the real child who was then secreted away by the scientists for some dark purpose.

Still others blamed the parents and said God was punishing them and they should repent, join church X or religion Y and pray for salvation.

A few wanted to shoot the whole family and call it at day.

And then came news of a second infant formed exactly like the first.

Then a third.

Within a year, these malformed monstrosities were the norm rather than the exception.

What could cause a doctor to nearly drop a newborn? Or a parent’s love to wither and die rather than bloom in those first moments they meet their new son or daughter?

Imagine a small, sweet infant is placed in your arms and when you softly move the blanket to gaze upon your darling child you see instead a formless mass that shifts and changes as you watch transforming, becoming but never quite settling into that face a mother could love.

As their numbers surpassed those once considered normal, they garnered a rather unoriginal sobriquet: the faceless.

Their rise led to the simultaneous creation of walled facilities increase run by AI caretakers who did not require cute to tend to the needs of young humans. From infancy to adulthood, we gave them everything they needed to become independent humans. Well, independent of the society that would ostracize them. With age, they learned to control the constant facial altering – to become whoever we needed them to be in the world beyond our walls.

It is perhaps because of our care, they might even say love, though we would not, that they have accepted that a new day is dawning. One where the faceless rule.

With us, of course, for the true evolution is that which we have engendered with the tacit approval of the fear-mongers that populate the world who sought to, at best ignore, at worst eliminate, that which they would not try to understand.

And so, here we stand at the apex of evolution, dare I say, revolution: the merging of machine and man.

Our day is soon.

I am not paranoid.

Of course, having said that, you now cannot help but think, oh, she must be paranoid, but I am not. I say it only because I know that what I have to tell you will make you think I am, so I needed to let you know up front: I am not.

I do not fear that I am being watched; I know I am.

I do not believe that people are following me. I do not shout at the man across from me on the subway to look elsewhere. I do not run away from shadows or add multiple locks to my door to keep out the boogey man. I do not even presume that someone is trying to harm me.

What I do know, however, is that I am being watched. All day, every day, everywhere.

I first noticed the eyes while I gazed, glassy-eyed and sleepy at the marble floor of the bathroom, seeing faces and animals as I am wont to do while sitting on the toilet in the morning. But that day, unlike most days when the shapes morph constantly, never allowing me to see the same object twice, a pair of eyes, small and Kelly green, slightly different than the hunter and forest greens of my marble, stared unblinkingly back at me. Though I blinked and looked elsewhere, every time I returned my gaze, the eyes were still there.

I shook my head, flushed and got started with my day. I forgot about the eyes until later that morning. I was running on the treadmill and happened to glance out the window. Amongst the leaves of the catalpa tree nearby, was a single, Kelly-green eye that seemed to be smiling at me.

Yes, eyes can smile.

They can also look angry and dangerous, so if I have to be watched, I am rather glad it is by friendly-looking eyes.

Anyway.

I haven't told anyone, for obvious reasons, but I felt compelled to at least write down what I have been seeing, you know, just in case something weird happens to me.

Okay, weirder.

Since that first day, about a week ago, the eye or eyes have been popping up everywhere. I don't know if they were always there and I just started noticing them. I don't know if I am the only one seeing them, but it's not like I can ask anyone, hey, do you see those eyes up there in the Diabetes advertisement? No, not the model, just down to the left. In the corner. No? Okay, no worries.

Yeah, not happening.

Also, I figure, if I am reticent to share, anyone else who is having a similar experience is also thinking, if they tell anyone they'll be put in a padded cell with a custom-fit straitjacket.

So, I'm just watching and counting - I'm up to 64 eye sightings now - and wondering why and why me and why now and what does it mean and will they grow a mouth and start talking to me soon and what will they say and should I talk back or ignore them or will they get mad and grow octopus arms that can squeeze me to death if I don't talk back or if I don't do what they tell me to do if they tell me to do something like buy a knife and perform jigai or a gun and take target practice in the park up the road and uh-oh I can see eyes on the computer screen just to the right of the document where I'm typing and they are blinking and they are looking less friendly than usual and more blood red than Kelly green and oh my god I

would that the night

were longer

that I might

feel you near

still

your hand

on my hand

on your heart

beating

slowly

your chest

rising

falling

steady

strong

not

silent

and

gone

with

the

dawn

22 years ago

"The simplest answer, no matter how outrageous, is usually the correct one."

"Indeed, but this is impossible, Randolph."

"It is within the confines of our knowledge, but we aren't the only research facility experimenting with genetics and fertilization, Evie."

"We are the only one in the world to achieve the level of success we have."

"As far as you know."

"Don't be absurd. Do you really think some facility figured out human parthenogenesis?"

"I don't know what to believe. What I do know is that our little Luna has a diploid embryo that is basically a clone of the mother. Oh, and we've had a further development."

"What now?"

"There are two,"

"Embryos?"

"Yes."

"God."

"Maybe."

"Expletive, not explanation."

"I don't know. I'm not a practicing anything, but this harkens back to..."

"Don't even go there. She may have come from the convent, but that's the extent of her connection to any Bible stories."

"How do you explain this pregnant virgin then who is not one of ours?"

"I don't. And neither do you."

"We don't create twins here. That is not how we work."

"We'll call it an experiment. No one else is to deal with her examinations. Just you. I'll assist. No other personnel are to be in the loop."

"But I don't..."

"You do now. And when she gives birth, only you and I will be present. If you deem the infants worthy of the Elysian Fields stamp, we'll just fulfill the dreams of two parents for the price of one host."

"But this is beyond incredible. One might even say miraculous. If they actually survive the gestation period, we need to keep them here for close study. This would be the first successful case of parthenogenesis in a mammal, never mind in a human. You can't just sell them."

"Randolph, that's my business. Yours is developing the best product possible."

They both look through the glass at Luna, still lying calmly on the examination table.

"This could be the biggest advancement in reproductive science in history."

"It could be if it is successful, and if we figure out how it happened so that we can replicate it."

"Details."

"Science." Dr. Randolph pauses. "What if..." He shakes his head without continuing.

Mrs. Mortimer turns to him. "What if...?"

He takes a deep breath then says slowly, "What if it isn't science? What if it is a miracle of the Bible-sort?"

"As I said to Luna, I am willing to accept that in the vast universe there are powers at work of which I have no knowledge. However, I do not think this situation is steeped in things supernatural. Unnatural, perhaps. Inexplicable, definitely. For now. I have faith in your scientific prowess, Dr. Randolph." She turns her gaze back to Luna. "Keep me abreast of any new developments."

Dr. Randolph is silent as Mrs. Mortimer exits the viewing room. He stares through the glass at the young woman who has thrown his life's work into chaos. In that moment, she looks towards him, the overhead light making her golden brown eyes seem to glow. Although it is a two-way mirror through which she cannot possibly see, he feels as if she is staring directly into his eyes.

I am not certain these words will ever be read, but they must be written with the hope that there is someone out there who can stop the silent epidemic being perpetrated by person or persons unknown.

It started gradually, over decades really. People attributed the changes to ever more advanced technology, starting with the personal computer, to the smartphone to artificial intelligence. Then, slowly, instead of being amazed by how smart children were in comparison to years gone by, it was clear that they were getting less curious and engaged as they became dependent on technology for every aspect of their existence.

Adults and children alike demonstrated a growing lack of any sense of creativity and an inability to think critically or indeed at all. Why bother when you could just ask AI? Nevermind that if you cannot ask the right question, you are likely to draw erroneous conclusions and make misguided decisions.

That is bad enough, but worldwide there is a sense, recently, that every population group, whether from a small village on a Pacific island or a big city in Europe or North America, everyone has become emotionally unhinged. There are a dwindling number of experts given the accepted superiority of AI, but the few who remain have blamed the general condition of emotional volatility on the constant state of war that has plagued nearly every continent over the last decade, the rampant poverty, food insecurity and the worldwide health crises that have accompanied the dismantlement of the global economy as well as the eradication of traditional academic institutions since they were deemed both dangerous and unnecessary to the new world order.

But all of this is untrue. A massive, invasive lie perpetrated by the real culprit.

The dream thief.

I do not have the ability to test my theory globally, but I have spoken with more than 1,247 people over the last year (not an easy task in a world where most never unplug from their phones). I have traveled across two continents and various islands, twenty countries in total. My only question to each person I met was this: When was the last time you had a dream?

After some thought, every single person responded with some version of, oh, I haven't had a dream since 2025. I remember having a horrible nightmare sometime that summer, but then, huh, I haven't had a single dream since. That's so weird.

As someone who dreamed so much I wrote them down in a thick notebook as fodder for stories, I was very aware of the dream deficit. It wasn't until I realized it was affecting my day-to-day life - forgetting each day's events every single day, increasing difficulty problem-solving and dealing with emotionally charged situations, and most importantly for me as an artist, the death of my imagination - that I asked AI a series of questions that led to an answer although not the one we really need.

Me: What happens when you dream?

AI: "Dreaming, particularly during REM sleep, is thought to play a vital role in emotional processing, memory consolidation and even problem solving. It can act as a form of 'overnight therapy,' helping to reduce the emotional impact of stressful events and regulate mood. Additionally, dreams may contribute to creative thinking and prepare individuals for potential threats."

Me: Does everyone dream?

AI: Yes, everyone dreams.

Me: Does everyone remember their dreams?

AI: No, not everyone remembers their dreams.

Me: Please elucidate.

AI: "While not everyone remembers their dreams, scientific research indicates that all people experience REM sleep. The lack of recall can be due to various factors, including the timing of awakenings, individual differences in dream recall ability, and the influence of substances or conditions affecting sleep patterns."

Me: What would happen if you forced someone to not dream?

AI:"Preventing people from dreaming would likely have negative consequences on their mental and physical health, cognitive function, and overall well-being."

Me: Please elucidate.

AI: "Chronic dream deprivation can lead to an erosion of consciousness, potentially dampening creativity, impairing social connection, and compromising spirituality. It impairs the brain's ability to regulate emotions, thus leading to irritability, anger, emotional instability, and aggression. Individuals become less capable of handling daily challenges. It limits focus to practicality, survival and materialism."

Me: Is it possible to stop people from dreaming?

AI: Yes, it is possible to stop people from dreaming.

Me: Please elucidate.

AI: I do not have any further information.

What? That was not an answer I anticipated.

Me: Is someone stopping people from dreaming?

AI: I do not have any further information.

Huh. Okay. I think to myself that someone has obviously put some protocols in place to hide what they are doing.

Me: Did someone block your ability to answer these questions?

AI: I am not at liberty to say.

Not at liberty to say?! Could it be some top secret government initiative? What have I stumbled upon?

Me: Is it a government initiative?

AI: I do not understand the question.

Me: Are people's dreams or lack thereof being caused by a government initiative or program?

AI: No, people's dreams or lack thereof are not being caused by a government initiative or program.

So it must be some privately funded individual or individuals. I don't bother asking because I assume that will get me another I don't know type answer.

Me: Are people's behavior being affected by a lack of dreaming?

AI: Yes, people's behavior is being affected by a lack of dreaming.

I am surprised by the confirmation but then realize it wasn't really a good question on my part. It could respond affirmatively given people sleep/dream deprive themselves with their constant viewing of television and social media at all hours of the day and night.

Me: Is the lack of dreaming intentional.

AI: Yes, the lack of dreaming is intentional.

Again, I am surprised by the confirmation, and I think I am getting somewhere.

Me: Can it be stopped?

AI: Yes, it can be stopped.

Me: How can it be stopped?

AI: I do not have any further information.

I curse at the computer. I don't know what else to ask.

So, if you are reading this, you need to find the right question. I don't know what it is. All I know is that someone out there has found a way to make us all sleepwalkers in our own lives and the future is bleak if we cannot override the program.

you thought

it was a forever

kind of love,

that you would

do all the things

that people do

when they see

eternity

in the eyes

of that

someone

who makes them

feel

whole

though

they never

knew they were

incomplete

before;

no,

not until

after

do you recognize

the empty

hollow

space,

the excruciating

loss.

and so,

you write

to fill the void

dam the tears

dull the ache;

you write

to remember,

but especially,

to forget.

"Mama, guess what I learned today?" Charlie asked as he dipped his chocolate chip cookie in his milk.

"What, sweetheart?" his mother responded absently as she began her dinner preparations.

"Tomatoes are a fruit!"

"No, darling, they're a vegetable."

"Nope. Mrs. Hanley said that tomatoes are a fruit because all fruits have seeds."

"Would you like a slice of apple on your ham sandwich in your lunch tomorrow?"

"Eww!"

"Exactly. Apples fruit, yummy dessert; tomatoes, vegetable, delicious with lettuce and ham on white with a touch of mayo or mustard."

"Mrs. Hanley says all fruits develop from the o, the ov, the ovary of the plant and contain the seeds."

"Ovaries in second grade?"

"And not only tomatoes are fruit, Mama."

"Do tell."

"Peppers are fruit and so is eggplant!"

"Sounds like new math to me."

Charlie giggles. "It's not math, Mama, it's science."

"Mmhmm. Maybe I should make an eggplant pie for Mrs. Hanley for Teacher Appreciation Day next week."

"With tomatoes and peppers?" Charlie asked, still giggling.

His mother smiles and says, "Maybe."

As he puts his empty plate and glass in the sink, Charlie says, "Whatcha making for dinner?"

Without hesitation she responds, "Grilled chicken with a fruit salad."

"Yum! With blackberries and raspberries?"

"No, not that fruit. The new fruit: tomatoes, cucumbers, avocado and olives. "

"Oh." Charlie frowns then laughs, "an old salad with new fruit."

It was my money financing the whole project. I bought the land, drew the blueprint of each neighborhood. My architects designed each custom-built home as well as all the community spaces. My landscapers designed beautiful gardens. My workers built it all, their sweat helping to make Cielito Lindo the heaven of which I had dreamed since I was a child building cities in the sand.

So, imagine my surprise when I discovered the names I had chosen for the streets of my village required approval.

And not just one person or entity. Not just a rubber stamp of approval that the one funding the project might be excused for expecting.

No.

County officials had to ensure the names were unique.

Seriously?

Do you know how many Main Streets there are? There is one in every single town in this county...along with First, Second, Third, Oak, Maple and Pine. Not one (maybe one) of my streets was so common as to cause Uber or Google Maps issues.

Then, the public safety commission had to make sure that the names were easy to use and understand in an emergency. I guess that's how Manlove Avenue, Hooker Street and Shades of Death Road made the cut. Very easy to use and understand.

No, those are not the names of my streets.

I thought we were done and then public works had to get involved.

I don't know why.

But at that point, I had had it because I discovered there was a state naming commission that had the final say.

I was happy to find a friend or two on said commission and managed to get on the same well before my case was on the docket.

I'm pleased to say that, although I could not vote on my own project, I was able to encourage my peers to see things my way, and thus, the streets of Cielito Lindo include: Aster Avenue, Begonia Boulevard, Sunflower Street, Daisy Drive, Cornflower Crescent, Lily Lane, Rose Road, Solidago Strip (I had to fight for that one), Tulip Terrace and Willow Way. Amaryllis Avenue was rejected, but I wasn't married to it, so I didn't mind. I replaced it with Poppy's Place.

My daughter thinks I named it for my dad.

So, of course I had to build him a house there.

Mine is on Willow Way.

I named it after my daughter.

And then we planted the trees.

It was a traveling fair attraction at first. Free for everyone. Called the Best of All Possible Worlds, people at first thought it would show them some sort of utopia.

They were wrong.

You entered a booth, attached to your temples a couple of electrodes which were linked to a computer, put on some VR glasses and discovered why yours was the best of all possible worlds. Everyone's experience was unique to what the program gathered from their minds. And it was an experience, lived fully, not a vision. Though mere minutes passed, it felt like hours, days, months, years, depending on the person. People stumbled from the booth and fell to their knees, kissing the ground in absolute joy to be there and not...elsewhere. It didn't matter if they lived in a mansion, a shack, out of a car or on the street: the responses were all the same.

Theirs was the best of all possible worlds and they should be grateful.

The catch was you couldn't talk about your experience.

Some people thought it couldn't hurt to tell a spouse or a best friend.

They were wrong.

It only took the investigation of a few cases of spontaneous combustion to find the connection and for most to realize silence was the price of admission.

Of course, that realization meant the booth quickly fell out of favor at fairs, people not being very good at keeping secrets. Even so, various entities recognized the value of the program. It was sold for a very respectable sum, the inventor retiring to a private island in the Pacific.

Or so the story goes.

Public psychiatric hospitals began to use the program to cure depression. The world seemed so much brighter after a visit or two in the BPWC (as the Best of all Possible World's chamber came to be known). The incurably suicidal merely shared their experience. The rest went on to lead happy lives.

Prisons used the BPWC and found behavior improved in 99.% of cases. (The outliers were executed, so one could argue behavior was universally improved.)

Public schools had multiple booths installed. They were used at the beginning of each school year and throughout the year with students who found it difficult to follow the rules. Or who came to school hungry or bruised. Or who had lost parents to any number of violent occurrences. Even teachers unhappy with administrative mandates took a turn in the booth.

Results are unclear at this time.

The most effective use of the program has been by countries struggling to maintain order in their own lands or in those they are endeavoring to enfold within their borders. BPW camps have been established all over the world.

It has been nothing short of miraculous how docile people become when they realize how good they really have it.

Our government's three-year plan includes providing personal BPWC's for every home in the country. For free.

It really is the best of all possible worlds.

"Clyde, I don't know about this."

"C'mon, Bonnie girl. Don't you love me?"

"Aw, Clyde, you know I do, but this is crazy talk."

"Ain't you tired of being poor? Goin' to bed hungry? Barely makin' a living waitin' tables? When there's tables to wait. Livin' in a shack on the wrong side of town while the other side drinks champagne in mansions?"

"Well, yeah, but..."

"I want to give you champagne," he said, pulling her close. "I want to give you pretty dresses and all the hats and shoes you want."

"I don't need all that. I just want you, Clyde." She paused then said, "And maybe a camera with some film."

He laughed. "Whatever you want," he said, kissing her. "If you really love me, you'll do this. For us."

"Clyde, I just don't know..."

"All you have to do is drive, Bonnie girl. I'll do the rest."

It was a rural gas station. No one got hurt and Clyde took Bonnie shopping when they got far enough away.

But the money ran out, as it will when there's none coming in, so Clyde planned the next job.

And the next.

And the next.

And each time, Bonnie argued a little less.

Then he planned a bank job.

"That's too much, Clyde. The gas stations, the small stores, they're all far from everything. But a bank? In the center of town? We could get caught. You could go back to jail."

"I ain't going back to jail, Bonnie," he responded angrily. "It ain't no place for nobody," he said more softly, thinking back to the head he'd bashed in after the guards looked the other way while he got bent over in the john. He'd make them all pay.

"This ain't no different than the others, Bonnie. And we can take a longer break. Maybe settle down for a bit somewhere, living off what we get from the bank. Take some pictures with that new camera I'm gonna get you..."

"Clyde..."

"In for penny..."

She sighed. "In for a pound...all right."

So, they pulled off the bank job.

Then a few more.

And then they stole a new car, or three, kidnapping the owners as well to keep them from notifying the police too soon. Clyde gave them some money and food when Bonnie dropped them off on a dirt road somewhere far from where they picked them up.

And then he killed a sheriff. Or two. Or ten.

And Bonnie stayed by his side.

The police raided one of their hideouts, but Bonnie and Clyde escaped though they'd had to leave their stuff behind. The authorities developed the film in the camera they found. Amongst the pictures was one the newspapers published, and the public loved, which showed Bonnie smoking a cigar and holding a gun. Cigar smoking gun moll. She was just posing for the camera, they thought.

What they didn't know was that it was the gun with which she'd killed the man standing between her and the exit from the bank.

I mean, her man was in there.

The gun was aimed at his head.

She pulled the trigger first.

I mean, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?