I’m waking up from my 100-year hibernation. My first.
If everything is well then I shall stay around for five, maybe ten years, until 2140 perhaps. That will give me time to finish my life’s work, look around, and maybe sleep another 100 years, wake up again, sleep again, until I’m ready to sleep for good.
But if I don’t like how humanity has evolved, then in a week I shall be ready to snooze into the far future. I hope we’ve made spectacular strides. I might be right, based on my previously fulfilled predictions. In 2016 a Romanian journalist thought she was saving me from embarrassment when she left out chunks of my interview. I live in New York City, was born in Romania. I was sharing my euphoria that reputable Western scientists believed that in 2030 we’d have the ability to clone ourselves, to backup and duplicate our brains digitally, to heal the sick, and even revive the dead. And I decried that while this was happening in the world of science we busied ourselves with jealousy and back stabbing, addiction, discrimination, war, political thievery.
In 2016 in the USA they were cloning cats and dogs for big money. The journalist asked me, “What for?! Romania is full of stray dogs, no one needs them.” I stubbornly dreamed out loud, “How wonderful it would be if I could clone myself and grow up in New York. A new life, without trauma, without abusive alcoholics, without communists who trampled upon my youth.”
She was silent. In 2016 even pain killers were difficult to buy in Romania.
Well, in 2030 I did duplicate my brain digitally. But though many people cloned themselves, I didn’t. By then I made peace with my past. Plus Donald Trump ruined cloning for me. His first attempt at presidency failed, thank God. Imagine the President of the USA with his ridiculous comb-over hairdo and orange complexion.
But then he cloned himself, to run again for president later.
Anyway, I needed new hands, knees, actually new bones, since I suffered from osteoarthritis, but the side effects of bone replacements were still daunting. So I opted for hibernation, wait until science could fix my rickety body to last at least until I finished my work. My writing. What if they don’t read now? What if I’m obsolete? No. People still read in 2030. Print media died, we published only eBooks. Though I cherished my paper library. I hope I still have it. My dear home in the Catskills wasn’t sealed before I booked into the hibernation facility. I let my son use it, and his children and their children.
I wonder if there will be many family members welcoming me.
I won’t open my eyes yet. Wiggle toes, fingers. I’m okay.
I wanted a world without country borders, no walls raised to stop movement. If they finally gave up on cars and now they only fly about in saucers or hovers fueled by clean energy, I’d be so happy. I hope highways were dismantled and grass and wild flowers and trees grew back. I’ll swim again in the ocean. Last time I went to Brighton Beach was paradise. Water clear, sand pure. The antipollution steep fines worked marvels. I hope they kept at bay the sea level. I’m sure they did. The Manhattan multi-million condominium owner association took care of the dike system. What’s that sound? Open your eyes, will you? Wind. Waves? No, wind. We’re not under water. Are we? Open your eyes. Alright. Ceiling, bed, sheets. Cotton? Yes. Okay. Oh, fragrant flowers. Delightful. Seems we found our way back to nature. I never understood why flowers lost their perfume and tomatoes were rubbery. Lovely light. Warm. Let’s see if you can sit upright. Ouch! I’m afraid to call a nurse. What if we employ robots, or we invaded another planet, took war prisoners and now they work here? I can toughen it. Get up. Window. Slowly. Trees. Sleek cars. Few. Good. No roads. Those holes? Underground street entrances. I don’t see any flying saucers. Maybe they are not allowed in the city, hard to coordinate the traffic. Well, at least no surface cars.
I’m hungry. Remote control. Buttons. Press, click… Oh, my! This wall is a 3D electronic screen. Nurse. Family. Welcome back. History Update. Nurse. Click.

Hi! What a relief! I feared you’ll be a slithering reptile! Bravo humankind! Can I have something to eat, please?


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