Morton isn’t certain if it’s dawn or twilight, nor certain of much else, except that he’s riding a stolen bike on an expedition he feels compelled to make. This is often the case; he’s mystified as to why that’s so. He speeds through vast deserted plazas between empty towering corporate concrete buildings where the wind whistles, no birds sing, and sunlight never falls; not ever a place that feels like home. 

Instinctively, he knows the location of the secret escape route into the Wildness but fears it will have been discovered, blocked, or observed by CCTV cameras; however, all is clear. He pulls hummocks of weeds to one side and, lying on his stomach, pushes his way through. In the darkness he concentrates, his eyes wide, straining to see the way ahead. 

The sky lightens. A fresh west wind blows away black clouds and the sun breaks through. Staring ahead, he sees the Wildness stretching as far as the eye can see, and further yet than that; he finds it beautiful. Continuing, he approaches a swathe of daffodils. Bending to the flowers he sniffs, hoping to discover their smell. His disappointment soon disappears at the sight of gravel glinting beneath crystal light.  Euphoric at the beauty of blades of viridescent grass decked with beads of dew, he thinks the Wildness is beauty itself. 

Emerging from behind a wall of dense blackthorn, he comes upon a vast circular arena populated by an untold number of noisy stocky white animals. He struggles to remember the illustration seen in a child’s dictionary. Sheep! he shouts. The sheep vanish. A solitary man waits. 
Morton, terrified, begs, What happened to the sheep?
Welcome, Morton, the man says. 
How do you know my name? 
Do you remember when you were six?
Only a bit. I had polio. I was paralysed, could hardly breath, and couldn’t walk until I was ten.
And here you are, still walking.
It was a miracle.
Yes, my miracle. Your parents begged me to implant an A1 chip in your brain, and here you are with me, your maker. You asked about the sheep: they only existed in your head. I put them there and I made them vanish.
Why?
To help you understand that since then, my AI has managed you. 
What’s AI?
A tool. I control your every action. You are my creature. You have no free will. 
If that’s true, why am I here?
To see if my experiment is complete. Come closer. Can you smell me?
Morton goes close. You stink of piss. It’s disgusting.
Success! Smell was the last sense I hadn’t mastered. 
Are you God?
As good as.
Set me free.
Agreed, shake on it.
Morton’s hand passes through thin air.
The man laughs, I’m not here.
The man disappears. The Wildness is gone. Spinning twisters swirl across an endless sea of sand beneath a blistering sun. 
Please, come back. I don’t want to die alone. Please.

I hope you enjoyed this story. Please feel free to pass it on to others who may be interested. You can read my previous 500 word stories on my website www.philcoskerwriter.com under ‘Writing’.>>>More
© Phil Cosker 2025
Phil Cosker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work. All rights reserved; no part of this work may be reproduced or transmitted by any mean, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the prior permission of the author.