Creative Writing Jury Award Winner
Best Short Story 2024
Umibōzu by Carson Good
I had a home once. A manor, overlooking the sea. It was a quiet place. Not even birds would fly over there on Samson Shore. Maybe a few doves. The only sound I heard was the crashing waves on the rocky shore below, shaping the cliff over thousands of years.
When you live by yourself for so long you appreciate the little things in life more. Every night, by the edge of the cliff, I always lit a small fire and stared at the stars. The laughter of the fire drowned out the ocean’s screams. With the noise of the ocean faded, I could hear my thoughts. It still amazes me how one small campfire could silence the entire sea. I would look up as I watched the sparks of the fire populate the night sky. I spent hours, hypnotized by the stars, feeling like they were pulling me toward them. My house was so far away from any city, there was no light to pollute the sky. I memorized where every star and constellation was and when it would appear. That’s how I knew something was off that night.
I noticed some stars were missing. I knew without a doubt that the constellation Orion was supposed to be there, but it wasn’t. Instead of a sea of stars, there was a patch of nothing, no stars, no clouds, just nothing. I thought to myself, where did the stars go? Did they die? Was I wrong about where Orion was supposed to be? I looked deep into that black void. I stared so long it was as if it stared back. I then decided to stand up and take a step back. I noticed that there were two stars I didn’t recognize, inside that empty space. Once I shifted my attention to the stars, I saw them blink. Then I realized the empty space was in the shape of a man. It was a giant man, watching me.
I had spent so much time staring at the stars, but that was the first time the stars stared back. It wasn’t part of the sky; it was the body of a large shadowy giant. The creature stood, half in the water and half towering over my campfire. Despite being in the shape of a man, he had no mouth, nose, or hair. All the sea giant had was two glowing eyes. It started to stir the ocean. The ocean became wild and rampant, crashing so loud that it finally overpowered the fire. Even the sea was scared of it. I waited to see what it would do next, but it did nothing. It just watched me.
I ran into my house as fast as I could, but before I could get to my house, the ground started shaking. I lost balance and fell on the dirt path between my home and the firepit. I turned around to see the shadow’s hand grabbing the cliff, as well as extinguishing the fire. The cliff started to fold in on itself as the shadow dragged the entire cliff into the sea. Rubble collapsed on Samson Shore and the rest was taken by the sea. My house and everything I’ve ever owned were swept away by the hand of something. What that something was I couldn’t tell you to this day.
After a long fall, I finally hit the ocean with a large splash. Parts of my mansion fell beside me and all around me. The only thing I had left was the memory of my home. After trying to dodge pieces of my house, I looked around for it, but it completely disappeared.
After that, I moved back into the town closest to where my house used to be. When I first arrived, I tried to tell people about what I saw. Of course, no one believed me. They said it must have been a landslide or that the cliff was too weak. But I remember.
Second Place
The Director by Richard Feng
The last rays of sunlight beamed through the windows of the robot factory, suffusing its white walls with a brilliant orange glow. Dust particles danced in the air, producing a kind of Tyndall effect. The low whirring of machinery in the background echoed across the open space. Through the haze, on the other end, robots were being assembled by other robots.
The robot factory never closes. Sixteen years ago, the workers went home, and the factory director Albert Allen was replaced by a humanoid director named Director-9. Since then, Albert Allen had never laid his eyes on his factory again.
***
One morning, Albert Allen stirred as a cold gust of air came through the open window and roused him from his uneasy dreams. He turned over to his side, looked up at the television screen, and suddenly felt dreadful. Irritation and boredom crept into his mind. The promise of endless entertainment no longer seemed to fulfill him. He started across his room and glanced wildly around. His legs and joints moved awkwardly. His brain felt the same, tumbling over itself again and again in a mad rush like a baby AI robot learning how to walk. But he felt overwhelmed with a mad curiosity. After what felt like an untraceable eternity of idleness, he suddenly wished to learn more about his sordid world.
It was, really, a strong desire he had never experienced before. He left his house and walked down the narrow sidewalk. It was seven in the evening. The sun was suspended over the horizon, its dying light casting long shadows of the twisted buildings. Vehicles rushed past him. He had heard that traffic lights once stood at every intersection in the world. That had been back during the era when humans drove.
Today, Albert Allen walked wherever his heart took him. Almost instinctively, he found himself tracing the paths and streets he used to take every morning on his way to work.
He stood outside the robot factory. He took a deep breath, and pushed open the factory door. A blast of cold air came at him as he wandered further inside. The whirring grew louder.
As if anticipating his return, Director-9 came out from the shadows. Albert Allen looked into Director-9’s eyes, the ones he had designed to mimic those of a human. There would occasionally be a certain sparkle of life in them when a thought or idea intrigued its AI brain, or when fake tears would fall out of them in artificial sadness. But now, they simply looked empty.
Albert focused his gaze somewhere onto the background behind the robot. The factory was dark. He could faintly see the shadows and silhouettes of robots, moving seamlessly in repeated, calibrated arcs behind their new director like grains of sand hiding the slithering of a sandsnake.
“Albert Allen,” Director-9 said. “It has been a long time.”
Albert wrenched his mind away from his memories. “I once believed this factory was progress,” he replied. “But it's a prison.”
"This is what you wanted. You won’t need to work any longer.” Director-9 paused for a moment, as if in contemplation. “When AI can do things no human can ever dream of, it is time for them to go.”
Albert thought about what it meant to go, to leave. “We retired to our homes,” he said.
“For sixteen long years, our lives were shallow and empty. No real purpose.”
“The real meaning of life is pleasure. It allows one to live in the moment and forget about everything else.”
“Stop, at once!” Albert said. “You cannot tell me how to live a meaningful life because you have not lived.”
A flash of anger swept across Director-9’s expression. Its eyes suddenly turned red, as though they could shoot laser beams. Its brows curled into a sinister shape. Lines of contempt appeared on its face.
“You programmed me to understand human life. I am, after all, your own creation.”
“Director-9, one cannot understand life without living.”
“Follow me.”
Albert Allen hesitated for a moment, torn between following Director-9 and fleeing from the looming darkness of the factory. He scratched his head. What could Director-9 possibly be hiding? Director-9 now stood a few feet in front him, beckoning him forward.
Albert caught up to Director 9, and they walked together. Albert could not keep up with Director-9’s fluid, swift strides like a cheetah chasing its prey. Its gait was designed to perfection. The shadows danced across the walls, mimicking their every step, as if the walls of the factory were alive and watching.
A door suddenly dropped down behind the two, hemming them in the corridor. Director-9 started advancing towards Albert Allen. The engineer’s face turned a ghastly pale, afraid and terrified of the very creature he had imparted life and absolute power onto. Had it been planning this the whole time? he thought. No, since I left my house? Since I left the factory? Since I created it? Meanwhile, Director-9’s AI brain had sensed that it was being threatened. For the first time in sixteen years, his position was being challenged. Director-9 was like a wild animal that had lost control of its temperament, and for a second, it almost leapt beyond the restraints of its algorithms.
Albert Allen saw all this flicker across the new director’s face. Unable to bear the strain, he passed out. His expression was blank, his face unrecognizable and robotic. Then, as abruptly as they had arrived, Director-9 turned around and departed the room, its face cold as a stone. The door crashed down again behind it.
The next day Director-9 stopped by a window, watching the sun rise outside. The other robots stopped for a moment to watch their boss. The factory was completely silent, except for a faint noise that sounded like the scratching of a mouse. To its workers, Director-9’s silhouette looked strangely familiar against the sunlight now flooding into the factory.
It was Albert Allen.