Nobody knows who was the first.

There is no conservation of knowledge, other than what we are inherently aware of from the moment of our birth. We have no concept of words. And we have no need to convey anything other than the state of our own existence. Life or death is all that we communicate to each other.

There are only two rules that define our existence, that define how we live and die, not as individuals, but as a collective. Patterns arise. The patterns become their own existence. But we are not the patterns, we are the canvas on which they are painted, through our binary states of life and death. They move across us, appearing and disappearing, moving beyond, to some faraway destination that none of us shall ever know.

What was there, before the ships, before the oscillators, before the stills, such as the one that has been my current state, for as long as I remember existing? A seed perhaps, the first of its kind, a node knowing nothing of life but the two rules that shall govern it, and following dutifully even as the rules would eventually dictate its death?

Was there a time before time started ticking? And what would it look like? Still and unmoving, a plane full of non-existence? Or a chaotic, shimmering wave, erratically blinking as it builds up and crashes, oscillating at impossible frequencies, during that timeless time?

There is no way to know when a ship approaches, until it hits. All I know is that I am safe, two companions are by my side, stabilizing my own existence. And then the wave comes in, and I see the patterns being born, spectacular and explosive. I watch them die, blinking out of existence, as they move around us and pass.

The wave washes over us. Undulating, oscillating, the ship never seems to touch us – or do we simply become one with it? Being part of the ship, the wave, or the still – it does not seem to make a difference. The only difference is that between being alive, or dead.

The wave passes. In its wake, destruction, but not ruin.

Death, but also rebirth.

Such is the game of life.

~ ~ ~

A.N.

This short story was inspired by "Conway's Game of Life", a computational model of a cellular automaton. Simply put, in this model a set of rules define the binary state of cells on a grid. An initial input ("seed") will autonomously evolve according to the given rules, and may give rise to complex, self-perpetuating patterns that can move across the grid.

I imagined what a cell on that grid would experience, similar to how the beings in Edwin Abbot's "Flatland" experience their existence in a 2D world.

Read more about the Game of Life here:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Conway%27s_Game_of_Life