They let him run the world even though he’d destroyed ninety percent of it. It was the price of genius minus the cost of madness. He’d gone far past perfect, but hadn’t known when to stop.
That’s what happens when you try to top Utopia.
Creating the perfect society had been a piece of cake. Unless you were one of the billions who’d died in its making. What’s the old saying? You can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Well, he broke most of them, but what a tasty dish for those still around to eat.
Unadulterated, unabashed and unpunished hedonism. Heaven on earth without a trace of conscience. He ruled the present and decreed the future. Declarative might was right.
Was would be.
So, what drove him past perfect? The human been. That stuff behind. The rear view mirror. Memory. History. The past. He had to make the past perfect. He lusted after the trifecta: past, present and future perfect.
But, things got tense. When you become a has been, you are truly done. Cracks in perfection. Precision. Meaning. It all happened at once. Time fled. Beyond. Behind. Here. There. Now. Then.
Ever the optimist, he cracked the same eggs, slaughtered billions again, and ended with leftovers. Stale. Unappetizing. Predictable.
Predictability. He finally won in losing. Sense outrun. The fever of pursuit. The next. It would never be as it had been before. Kingdom come. Words be done. A man. Amen.