Blog

New Years

I’m sorry for the dreams I fled,

When I should’ve stayed and loved instead.

I’m sorry for the dreams I marred,

The tender hopes my silence scarred.

I’m sorry for the broken past,

Let’s find a way to heal at last.

Change begins within,

Where love lets life begin.

With hope, let’s breathe the dawn,

And live the year reborn;

Wipe away the tears of past mistakes,

Renew the vow that courage makes.

The Art of Synergy

Right, good morning, team! Isn’t it just a great day to synergise? To streamline? To… innovate? You can feel the energy in this room, can’t you? Absolutely electric. As your line manager of Interdepartmental Synergy and Workflow Coordination, it’s my duty, my honour, to keep this ship sailing smoothly.

Now, I’ve been reflecting. Reflecting on how we can work smarter harder. And that’s why today, I am thrilled to announce the launch of the Efficiency Enhancement Initiative, or as I like to call it… The Big E.E.I. What is it, you ask? Well, it’s about improving our processes to… uh… ensure smoother workflows. Enhancing efficiencies, optimising our optimisations, streamlining our… streamlining. Simple, really.

As part of The Big E.E.I., I’ll be hosting something very exciting this afternoon: a Preliminary Pre-Brainstorming Session. Yes, you heard that correctly—a session where we prepare for next week’s main pre-meeting. Some might ask, “Why not just… have the meeting?” But that would miss the point entirely. Preparation is key. In this session, we’ll be discussing what we’ll be discussing in the next session. It’s genius, really. Layers of productivity.

And tomorrow? Oh, tomorrow is the big one. The Synergy Alignment Forum. Not just a meeting, mind you—a forum. It’s where ideas are born, nurtured, and allowed to thrive within the safe confines of… well, our current strategies. This week’s theme? Brace yourselves for this one: “Thinking Outside the Box While Staying Inside the Box.” Brilliant, isn’t it? It’s innovation, but with boundaries. You can think big, but only as big as the parameters I’ve already approved. That’s what I call vision.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. “Colin, haven’t we done this all before?” And to that, I say, yes—but not with this level of… synergy. Last week, for instance, we made an enormous breakthrough during our font selection workshop. Remember that? Four hours of collaboration, and we finally settled on Arial. Sleek, dynamic, versatile. And, yes, I know it was the default font, but isn’t that the beauty of efficiency? Sometimes, the answers are right in front of us.

You see, the work we do here is vital. Take Derek, for example. What’s he working on? Spreadsheets, probably. Or… something to do with synergy. Whatever it is, it’s important, and that’s what matters. And Sophie—brilliant Sophie—always ahead of the curve with her status reports. Although I do wish she’d resend them—I tend to skim and auto delete emails these days. Efficiency, you see. Why read everything when you can just read enough?

But let’s not forget the bigger picture. This isn’t just an office. No, no, no—this is a well-oiled machine, a hive of activity, a… a synergy factory. Look at you all, working tirelessly. Some might say, “Colin, what do you actually do?” And to that, I say, I facilitate. I motivate. I innovate. I coordinate synergy across interdepartmental workflows. And isn’t that what leadership is all about?

Right, I think that covers everything. Time for my mid-morning coffee. Keep up the good work, team. Remember: think outside the box, but not too far outside. Let’s keep those boundaries nice and tidy. Efficiency is key, after all.

The Society Within

INT. DIMLY LIT MEDIEVAL MEETING CHAMBER – NIGHT

Several people sit behind a long table, all wearing hoods and robes. The Protagonist (let’s call him ALEX) stands before them as the others chant monotonously.

LEADER #1: (solemnly) And thus, by the power vested in me, as Grand Keeper of the Lesser Secrets, we welcome you into the hallowed halls of The Society of Midnight Shadows.

ALEX: (awkwardly) Thank you. It’s… such an honour.

LEADER #1: Shhh! We don’t say “thank you” here. It’s forbidden. Instead, you say, “The bat flies at midnight.”

ALEX: Right, of course. The bat flies at midnight.

LEADER #1: Excellent.

ALEX: Right. And, um… what does the Society of Midnight Shadows actually do?

LEADER #1: We are the silent guardians of the unspoken truths.

ALEX: Okay, but… what does that mean?

LEADER #1: Mostly we just meet here on Tuesdays. Sometimes we rearrange traffic cones to spell “danger”.

ALEX: (doubtful) That’s… very noble.

LEADER #1: And remember, this is the only secret society that truly matters.

A bookcase suddenly swings open, revealing a hidden room.

VOICE FROM HIDDEN ROOM: Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop telling people that! You’re not even a real society!

Alex is dragged by robed figures into the hidden room, where the Society of Eternal Whispers is gathered. They’re all wearing identical robes, but these ones are purple.

LEADER #2: Welcome to the real secret society.

ALEX: There’s… another one?

LEADER #2: Of course! Did you think that façade was real? How naïve. This is the Society of Eternal Whispers.

ALEX: What do you whisper about?

LEADER #2: (loudly whispering) Everything.

ALEX: Like what?

LEADER #2: (louder) Stop asking questions!

ALEX: (mutters) You’re not very good at being secret.

LEADER #2: (not hearing the comment) You are one of us now. Your first task is to prove your loyalty by reciting the Pledge of Eternal Subtlety.

ALEX: Fine. What is it?

LEADER #2: (grabs a scroll) Repeat after me: “I shall live in shadows, walk in whispers, and never wear yellow.”

ALEX: Why can’t I wear yellow?

LEADER #2: Because yellow doesn’t really coordinate well with purple. Now repeat!

ALEX: (resigned) I shall live in shadows, walk in whispers, and never wear yellow.

LEADER #2: (smirks) Perfect. You are now one of us.

Another bookcase swings open. Everyone groans.

VOICE FROM NEW HIDDEN ROOM: (mocking) Oh, look at you, so subtle. Real subtle, with your purple robes and dramatic whispers.

Alex is pulled by more robed figures into the next room, where the Society of Infinite Layers meets. They wear gold-trimmed robes and are eating biscuits.

LEADER #3: Welcome to the actual secret society.

ALEX: (exasperated) How many of these are there!?

LEADER #3: We’re the Society of Infinite Layers. We’ve been infiltrating the infiltrators for centuries.

ALEX: Do any of you actually do anything?

LEADER #3: How dare you! We’re responsible for all of society’s greatest advancements.

ALEX: Like what?

LEADER #3: (proudly) Biscuits. We standardised the size of biscuits in 1874.

ALEX: That’s it?

LEADER #3: And we control the national stockpile of custard creams.

ALEX: (mutters) That explains why they’re always out of stock.

LEADER #3: (ignoring Alex) Now, to prove yourself, you must complete our sacred task.

ALEX: (sighs) Let me guess. Something pointless?

LEADER #3: (offended) Not pointless! You must solve a Rubik’s cube in a tastefully darkened room while reciting the periodic table.

Before Alex can begin, another bookcase hidden door opens, revealing an elderly man sitting alone in a minimalist room.

LEADER #4: Don’t bother with that. Come in. You’ve reached the Ultimate Society.

The members of the Society of Infinite Layers tut their disapproval, as Alex enters the latest hidden room.

ALEX: (sceptical) Are you absolutely sure?

LEADER #4: Yes. I am the secret head of all secret societies.

ALEX: (relieved) Finally! So, what’s the ultimate secret?

LEADER #4: (leans in) The secret is… (pauses for dramatic effect) there is no secret.

ALEX: What? So you’re telling me I went through three ridiculous societies for nothing?

LEADER #4: Oh, it’s not for nothing. (hands Alex a biscuit) Have a custard cream.

Accountancy Jokes

What’s an accountant’s least favourite drink?
Anything that doesn’t come with a receipt.

What do accountants say when they’re shocked?
“That’s a significant variance!”

What do accountants sing on New Year’s Eve?
“Should old accounts be reconciled…”

What do accountants name their cats?
Cash and Flow.

What do accountants name their dogs?
Debit and Credit.

What’s an accountant’s favourite film?
“Return of the Journal Entry”.

What do accountants write in love letters?
“You’ve increased the value of my assets.”

What’s an accountant’s favourite fairy tale?
Goldilocks and the Three Balance Sheets.

What’s an accountant’s favourite board game?
Risk — it helps them manage their capital exposure.

Jokey Thoughts

My coworker said they work better under pressure, so I started sending them emails with the subject line: “URGENT: THE WORLD IS ENDING.” Productivity hasn’t improved.

I saw a trailer for a new superhero movie. It’s about a guy who gets bitten by a radioactive sloth. His superpower? Extreme patience.

The Dark Ages weren’t really dark. That’s just what happens when a historian writes the story without paying the electricity bill.

My ex said, “You’ll never find someone like me.” I said, “That’s the point.”

I told my goldfish a joke. He just stared at me like he’d heard it before. I guess I need new material.

Old Friends

INT. A QUIET CAFÉ – DAY

STEVE (in his 40s, slightly dishevelled) is sitting at a corner table with a coffee and a half-eaten croissant. The door opens with the sound of an eerie wind, though nobody else in the café reacts. Enter DEATH, wearing a classic black robe, but with a cup of takeaway coffee in hand. He approaches Steve, who looks up in confusion.

DEATH: (cheerily) Ah, there you are! It’s been a while. How’ve you been?

STEVE: Sorry, do I know you?

DEATH: (mocking offence) Do you know me? Oh, come on. After everything we’ve been through? All the near misses? The times you dodged me like we’re in some sort of game of tag?

STEVE: You must have me confused with someone else. I don’t think we’ve met.

DEATH: (laughs) Oh, please. It’s me. Death. You know… The Death. Big D. Grim Reaper. Ringing any bells?

STEVE: (staring) Death? As in… Death?

DEATH: Bingo. I mean, you’ve seen my work. Not to brag, but I’m kind of a legend.

STEVE: Okay… um, what do you want?

DEATH: (sitting down uninvited) Oh, you know, the usual. Bit of a catch-up. Quick chat before we get down to business.

STEVE: (panicking slightly) Business? What business?

DEATH: (ignoring him, takes a sip of coffee) So, what did you mess up this time? Honestly, it’s inspiring the skill you have at that sort of thing.

STEVE: I haven’t messed up anything! I’m just sitting here having a coffee. What are you talking about?

DEATH: Honestly, you’re impossible to keep track of. One minute you’re climbing dodgy ladders, the next you’re crossing motorways like you’ve got a death wish – oh wait, that’s my department. (chuckles)

STEVE: Wait a second. Are you saying I’ve… dodged you?

DEATH: Oh, several times! And not even in cool, action-hero ways. That time you choked on a peanut at the zoo? Classic. I was ready with the scythe, but no, here comes some stranger with the Heimlich manoeuvre. Rude.

STEVE: That’s not my fault. I didn’t ask to choke or be saved!

DEATH: (leaning back) Well, no one asks for these things, mate. But you’re a regular Houdini. So, what’s it today? Heart attack? Falling sign? Spontaneous combustion? Don’t keep me in suspense.

STEVE: Nothing! I’m perfectly fine. Healthy as ever! No signs, no combustion. Look, is this some kind of joke?

DEATH: (ignoring him) Right, anyway, let’s move this along, shall we? Any regrets? Unfinished business? That time you pretended you were sick to avoid your cousin’s wedding – you want me to apologise to her on your behalf?

STEVE: How did you? – look, this is ridiculous. I’m not dying today!

DEATH: That’s what you said last Tuesday when you thought it was a good idea to microwave an egg.

STEVE: Look, I don’t know who – or what – you are, but I’m not ready to go anywhere with you. You’ve got the wrong guy.

DEATH: (calmly sipping his coffee) Hmm, bold words. You know, I get that a lot. “Not ready, wrong guy, I’m too young.” (sighs) You humans act like I’m some sort of telemarketer. It’s a bit hurtful.

STEVE: Maybe because you show up uninvited and start scaring people?

DEATH: (offended) Scaring? I’m delightful! I bring closure! Peace! And, occasionally, free coffee. (gestures to his cup) Speaking of, I got this from that new café down the street. Lovely macchiato. Shame you never got to try it.

STEVE: (panicking again) What? Why not?

DEATH: Oh, relax. I’m just messing with you. Not your time. Yet.

STEVE: You can’t just waltz in here, make me think I’m about to die, and then say “just kidding!”

DEATH: Why not? Keeps things spicy. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your coffee. But seriously, maybe avoid tall ladders for a while. Just a hunch.

STEVE: Great. Now Death gives DIY advice.

DEATH: (heading towards the door) Hey, I’m looking out for you. Sort of. Catch you later…

The Art of Rhetoric

Good afternoon, everyone. Thank you for gathering here today. I must say, it is most agreeable to see all of you here, sitting in your respective seats, as one does.

Now, as I stand here, I find myself compelled to speak at length on a topic of importance: office supply procurement procedures. Yes, today we shall dive into the depths of stapler requisition forms and the fascinating, nearly unbearable intricacies of paperclip ordering. I shall endeavour to explain to you, in as much detail as possible, how and why a process that could be simple has instead been made magnificently, astoundingly, breathtakingly complex.

Some of you might be wondering, “Why does it matter whether we have blue or black biros?” An excellent question. Indeed, a very good question indeed—I spent upwards of sixty-seven minutes this morning pondering the same. However, I’m afraid I’m not in a position to provide a definitive answer. Suffice it to say that both have their merits. Blue pens evoke a sense of calm, while black pens, on the other hand, suggest a certain authority. Either way, whether you’re taking notes on something important or simply doodling, rest assured, both options are available to you.

I would like to take a moment to address the recent changes in our paper supplier. As you may be aware, our usual brand of A4 printer paper was out of stock for three days last month, and we had to switch to an alternative. I know some of you felt the new paper was slightly thinner, slightly different, almost undetectably unlike the usual stock. This raised some eyebrows, and I want to acknowledge your concerns. I personally spent several hours comparing the old paper to the new, and I can confirm: yes, there is a barely perceptible difference. However, feedback from the Paper Committee remains inconclusive.

Now, let’s talk about the issue of folder categorisation. You see, after much consideration and an extensive review process, it has been decided that all folders will henceforth be filed according to the second letter of their labels, not the first. Yes, this decision was not made lightly. It required no fewer than seven meetings, and multiple subcommittees were formed. I won’t bore you with the finer points of the deliberation—although I could, if you wish—but the upshot is that we believe the new system will bring a semblance of mild, almost negligible, efficiency to our filing cabinets.

Moving on to another highlight: I am pleased to report that our new policy on tea bag usage has officially passed. We are now asking that everyone limit themselves to one teabag per two cups. This may seem revolutionary, even radical, but studies have shown that a single teabag can be reused. And for those of you who might wonder about milk ratios, please note that no more than 2.3 tablespoons of milk per cup is now advised, a decision that took the better part of last week to reach.

Please feel free to review the accompanying documents during this initial 4-hour presentation. There will be time for questions at the end.

A Technological Landscape

Wireless energy, once a theory, has enabled humanity to abandon traditional power grids; energy is beamed from orbiting solar satellites down to Earth. People no longer carry phones; they use implantable tech that provides real-time access to information, communication, and healthcare diagnostics. A simple thought can summon a holographic interface that hovers in mid-air, visible only to the user and vanishing when not in use.

With neural enhancements and immersive virtual reality, couples in long-distance or unconventional relationships can experience a simulated closeness that feels almost as tangible as physical proximity. Holographic communication and sensory interfaces allow people to maintain relationships across vast distances, even fostering bonds with individuals on other planets or space stations, where off-world colonies are emerging.

Learning a new skill, once a laborious process, has been simplified through neural downloads and AI-enhanced tutoring. As technology increasingly integrates with biology—through everything from memory augmentation to body modification—the question of what it means to be “human” has become complex. Some choose to enhance themselves with artificial intelligence implants, while others resist, favouring a life less mediated by technology.

Smart clothing, crafted from fabrics that can cool or insulate as needed, is the norm, replacing the seasonal wardrobe. Buildings, too, have grown adaptable, constructed from “living” materials that respond to temperature and humidity shifts.

With breakthroughs in longevity science, many people live to see several generations of their descendants. Despite advances in lifespan, humanity has not eluded death entirely, though medical technology has pushed its boundaries in remarkable ways.

“Companion bots” manage everyday tasks. With basic needs met by automation, society grapples with questions of purpose and fulfilment. Paid employment is rare, but most humans choose to work in ways that offer fulfilment rather than survival, aided by AI agents that analyse their strengths, interests, and personal needs. Wealth disparities persist, though the poverty once prevalent has been eradicated.

Reproduction has undergone profound changes, enabled by biotechnology. Biological conception is still common, but many couples choose “genetic optimisation,” where embryos are screened for diseases and enhanced for health traits, resilience, or even intelligence. This practice has led to ethical debates over eugenics and the potential homogenisation of the human genome, though strict regulations aim to balance health benefits with the risks of genetic manipulation.

Some parents prefer to have children through advanced methods like in-vitro gametogenesis, where biological material from one or two individuals can be combined to create an embryo without traditional sexual reproduction. This opens up parenthood to single individuals, same-sex couples, or people who might otherwise face reproductive challenges. Companion bot surrogacy has also become more common, allowing people who don’t want to physically bear children to have biological offspring. This technology, while initially controversial, is now widely accepted, with stringent oversight to ensure ethical practices. Some see it as liberating, granting women freedom from the physical demands of pregnancy, while others feel it distances the experience of parenthood from its true, natural roots.

From a current perspective, it’s not unreasonable to view some of these likely developments as unappealing. However, the truly terrifying likely scenario follows, and certain countries in the world today may already be too late to stop some variation of this hell from happening.

In a darker vision, technological progress has been used to engineer an authoritarian nightmare. Surveillance is omnipresent, privacy is a relic of the past, and individual freedom is meticulously curtailed. Here, technology once celebrated for enhancing human potential has become a weapon of oppression, and humans live under constant, invisible scrutiny.

In this dystopian future, every aspect of life is monitored through an interconnected web of devices embedded in every home, public space, and within citizens themselves. Personal data is streamed directly to the system’s central command, an AI-driven supercomputer, which analyses each action, word, and even thought patterns, identifying dissent before it can manifest.

People wear mandatory “compliance implants” implanted at birth, which track physiological responses, monitor brain activity, and assess “loyalty metrics.” These devices make it nearly impossible to think subversively, as even private thoughts register as data points. Every movement, every moment of hesitation, is logged. Even friendships and romantic relationships are tracked, graded, and restricted based on loyalty scores. People may only interact with those whom the central command deems compatible, eliminating any risk of “unsanctioned alliances” that could foster resistance.

In public, holographic screens display reminders of the central command’s omnipotence, broadcasting a constant stream of propaganda that paints life under the regime as peaceful and prosperous. Every building is fitted with facial recognition systems that instantly cross-reference each individual’s identity, loyalty rating, and behavioural history, triggering alarms for anyone showing “deviant patterns” such as prolonged eye contact, lingering in groups, or quiet conversations.

To maintain absolute control, the “Great Leader” has dismantled traditional family structures, considering them breeding grounds for rebellion. Children are removed from their parents at birth, raised in state-run facilities known as “Harmoniums.” These cold, clinical institutions are devoid of love and attachment; they are designed to shape young minds for total obedience. Children are indoctrinated from infancy to view the Great Leader as their only guardian, and any memory of familial bonds is systematically erased.

Romantic relationships, too, are strictly regulated. People are paired through an algorithm that maximises compatibility for loyalty and productivity, with emotional connection considered an unnecessary risk. Conception and reproduction are tightly controlled, often occurring through artificial means, with genetic traits selected to eliminate any proclivity towards independent thinking. Couples live in designated housing blocks and are permitted only minimal interaction, making emotional bonds a rarity, if not outright illegal.

Economic life is dictated by the Great Leader’s concept of “the Duty”—a binding contract that requires every citizen to contribute a precise amount of labour each day to maintain social harmony. Citizens are allocated professions not based on personal aptitude or interest, but rather on loyalty metrics and behavioural compliance. Many work mindlessly in factories, churning out goods for the Great Leader, designed more for spectacle and control than practical function. The system tracks productivity in real time, rewarding only those who meet or exceed quotas with the most basic amenities.

There is no money; instead, citizens earn “compliance credits,” which can be exchanged for essentials like food and housing. Those who fall short, either through underperformance or subversive thought, lose credits, condemning them to a life of deprivation. Compliance credits can even be “banked” as bribes for additional privileges, making them the only way to secure a semblance of comfort. This ensures that everyone’s survival is directly linked to loyalty, creating an economy that thrives on fear and dependency.

Under the Great Leader’s rule, individuality has been systematically erased. Names have been replaced with identification codes, reducing people to numbers in the vast network overseen by the system. Fashion, once an expression of identity, has been standardised into a uniform that strips people of any distinguishing features. Creative expression is outlawed, with music, art, and literature considered dangerous forms of self-expression that could ignite independent thought.

Education, once a pathway to understanding and empowerment, has become a tool of indoctrination. Children learn only the Great Leader’s approved curriculum, which rewrites history, glorifies the regime, and vilifies any form of resistance. Ancient books are banned, with only selected fragments retained in a “curated archive,” where all references to freedom or self-determination have been expunged. Knowledge outside of this prescribed doctrine is punishable by imprisonment or disappearance, ensuring that even the concept of resistance is beyond comprehension for the average citizen.

To maintain the grip on society, reproduction is tightly controlled. Fertility is regulated through genetic manipulation, and only those deemed sufficiently loyal are permitted to have children, often through artificial selection methods that prioritise traits favouring obedience, compliance, and emotional suppression. Infants born without these “loyalty genes” are removed from society, suggesting they are either terminated or repurposed for hard labour.

In this society, there are no parents as traditionally understood. Children are produced in laboratories, with their genetic code “perfected” to match the ideal citizen. Relationships are stripped of intimacy and choice; even the concept of love is discouraged, relegated to relics of a bygone era. Those who dare express love or attachment face “re-education,” a euphemism for a brutal conditioning process that breaks the human spirit and ensures total subjugation.

Humanity’s brightest advances have become its darkest tools of repression. Technology, once meant to connect, empower, and enlighten, has instead shackled society in a nightmare where individuality, love, and freedom have all but vanished. People are stripped of humanity, their every breath and heartbeat monitored by the system.

Public monuments, vast portraits, and broadcasted speeches reinforce the idea that the Great Leader is a single, immortal figure, forever vigilant. The system broadcasts fabricated achievements and victories, glorifying him as the eternal protector. The system perpetuates the myth that the Great Leader possesses supernatural longevity, presenting him as a god-like figure, immune to time and death. But most tragically of all, nobody dares to speculate that the Great Leader died many years ago and was replaced by an AI agent of the system, trained on his behaviours.

I Wandered Worlds

Last night, I wandered worlds within,
where logic twists and colours spin,
where seas are red and skies are white,
and trees wear leaves of shattered light.

I walked a shore of fallen glass,
each shard a memory from the past—
a flash of laughter, swift and bright,
a lover’s gaze that cut the night.

I climbed a hill that breathed like skin,
its peaks alive, its roots within,
and watched as houses turned to sand,
and clocks dripped hours from my hands.

The air was filled with whispers there,
words that drifted, light as prayer,
but try to catch them, and they’d fade,
like shadows cast in evening shade.

I saw myself—a stranger’s face,
an outline shifting out of place.
She stared at me with hollow eyes,
half-mad with dreams, half-wise with lies.

And through it all, a humming sound,
an ache, a pull, a tremble found—
as if the earth beneath my feet
was drawn to some unheard heartbeat.

In dreamscapes strange, I drift alone,
in fields where time and space are sown.
When morning pulls, I leave behind
a thousand worlds, just fragments, blind.

Yet as I wake, they cling like dew,
soft traces of a world I knew,
a place unseen by light of day,
where dreams and waking worlds decay.

Humanity, Season 1

Astronomers at the Mount Huxley Observatory had been tracking an unusual radio signal for weeks—an anomaly amidst the usual static of deep space. Initially, they chalked it up to some cosmic background noise or the faint trace of a distant pulsar. But then, late one night, the signal changed, becoming too regular, too structured. It was a transmission. A series of strange bursts and frequencies that were too precise to be chance. After days of decoding, what they discovered sent ripples of confusion and excitement through the scientific community.

The signal was a message addressed specifically to a man named Kevin Marsh, a middle-aged accountant living in the quiet suburbs of Stockton-on-Tees.

“Dear Kevin,” the message read, once translated, “We’re huge fans of your work! The way you navigated that tense office argument with Janice last Thursday—brilliant! Such subtle emotional intelligence. Keep up the good work, and don’t worry about Craig, he’s totally going to get what’s coming to him!”

The astronomers were flummoxed. Who was this message from? How could it have travelled across the stars, and why was it so absurdly specific? Who in the universe cared about Kevin Marsh’s office squabbles?

The message was sent to Kevin, who, upon receiving it, reacted with bewilderment, then amusement, assuming it was an elaborate prank. But just as the buzz started to die down, more messages came through. And not just to Kevin—more transmissions arrived at the observatory, each one addressed to a different individual on Earth.

A single mother in Tokyo received an encouraging letter, praising her for her perseverance in raising two children while working long hours at a local market. “The way you handled Kaito’s tantrum yesterday was top-tier parenting!” it read. “We can’t wait to see how you manage the upcoming school interview. You’re a real star!”

A university student in Cape Town was congratulated on passing a difficult exam. “You really had us on the edge of our seats, Taviso!” the message said. “That last-minute essay? Genius. We were rooting for you the whole time!”

The precision of the details was uncanny. The letters referenced personal, intimate moments that couldn’t possibly be known to anyone outside those involved. As more messages arrived from the stars, the realisation slowly began to dawn on humanity: they were being watched from a distant star system, many light-years away from Earth. Some long-advanced civilisation had somehow tuned into Earth like a television broadcast. But not just the grand events—no, these extraterrestrials were obsessed with the mundane, everyday lives of people. To them, Earth was one giant soap opera.

Each day, thousands of new messages would arrive, filled with glowing reviews, emotional support, and the occasional critique.

“Dear Marissa,” one letter read to a barista in Sydney, “we think you’re great, but maybe don’t give up on your art career so quickly. That painting you’re working on? It’s going to be a masterpiece if you just stick with it. We’re really looking forward to the big reveal!”

The more the messages came in, the more Earth’s inhabitants started to perform, knowingly or unknowingly. Arguments were exaggerated, decisions became more dramatic, relationships were played out like intricate plotlines, and every mundane task was suddenly infused with the weight of unseen eyes judging, supporting, and critiquing.

The question “What will the aliens think?” became a driving force behind everything online. Social media platforms boomed with people posting updates specifically hoping for alien recognition and sponsorship.

And then came the awards. One morning, a particularly impressive message arrived at the Mount Huxley Observatory. It was addressed to all of humanity and bore the embedded signature of the “Galactic Viewership Council.” Inside, the message announced the First Annual Terra Drama Awards, celebrating the best moments from Earth’s “performances” over the past year.

A teenager from São Paulo had won the award for “Best Tearjerker” after a particularly emotional breakup. An elderly woman from Scotland won “Best Heroic Act” for saving her neighbour’s dog from a burning house. The biggest award, “Best Main Character,” went to a primary school teacher from India who had unwittingly captivated the alien audience with her everyday kindness and perseverance in the face of life’s challenges. Her acceptance speech, delivered live on social media, was simple: “I didn’t know anyone was watching, but I’m glad if what I did inspired someone.”

The messages kept coming, and with them, a growing sense that humanity’s role in the universe was something far stranger than they had ever imagined. They weren’t just explorers, inventors, or thinkers. They were characters, their lives unfolding in a cosmic drama watched by countless far away aliens.

And though they couldn’t see their audience, humanity now lived knowing that somewhere, out in the vastness of space, they had fans. Fans who rooted for them, laughed with them, and cried when they stumbled.

And the question remained: What would the next season bring?