John
and his friends had an easy life living on the tiny little island
that was their home. They all lived in a luxury apartment building.
Whenever John needed some food, he simply had to go to the
supermarket at the bottom of the building, and pick out whatever food
he wanted. There was no need to pay any money – you just took
whatever food you wanted, and walked out. The
supermarket was restocked by robots, who also mowed the grass on the
island. There was no need to work, and there were many opportunities
for leisure – swimming, game arcades, a library, and a bowling
alley.
John's
favorite activity was hanging out with his friends, and trading war
stories, tales about the great conflict between the human race and alien
invaders. It seemed that everyone John knew had a memory of how he or
she had played an important role in mankind's thrilling victory over
the extraterrestrial invaders.
“We
really kicked the hell out of those damn aliens, didn't we?” said
John.
“Damn
right we did,” said Joe, one of John's friends. “I sure played my
part. It was fun flying an Apache helicopter. Whenever I saw a swarm
of those hideous creatures from another world, I would hit them with
a Hellfire missile. Bam! That spoiled their party pretty good.”
“Yeah,
I remember when a huge bunch of them landed outside of New York,”
said Willy. “I flew a plane and dropped a big bomb on them. The
bomb made a big crater, but you could see little bits and pieces of
their weird alien flesh, scattered all over the place.”
“You
guys had it easy, working from the air,” said John. “I had to get
face to face with the monstrous things. I carried a flamethrower, and
I had to get right close to those alien creatures, and set them on
fire. But I was real brave. I zapped them again and again.”
“My
job was easier,” said Sue. “All I had to do was work in an
artillery team that shot those chemicals designed to wipe out those
things from another world. I never even saw them close up. But I know
that when our chemical artillery hit them, those creatures died just
like a bunch of roaches getting zapped by bug spray.”
“Do
you remember when the alien invaders gave up?” asked Willy. “When
they finally went back to their spaceships, and their ships zoomed
out of the solar system?”
“Are
you kidding?” said Joe. “I remember it like it was yesterday.
There was such a huge celebration in Times Square – it was bigger
than VE Day. I almost got buried in all the confetti that was falling
from the skyscrapers.”
“Yeah,
I remember that well, “ said John. “The whole world rejoiced. But
what I don't remember is: how did we get here on this tiny island?”
“How
many times are you going to ask that?” said Joe. “As I explained
quite a few times before, all that heavy combat we were involved in
took its toll. It damaged our memories. It's called Post Combat
Memory Syndrome. That's why none of us can remember exactly how we
got here.”
“Okay,”
said John. “But I do remember one thing very clearly. We're all
heroes of the greatest victory ever. We helped save mankind from the
worst threat it ever faced.”
“Damn
right we did,” said Willy. “I bet it will be a thousand years
before those aliens ever try again to send a spaceship to take over
this planet.”
The
100 humans living on Joe's little island were the only humans left
on planet Earth. The alien invasion had been a complete success. With
their superior technology many thousands of years more advanced than
human technology, the extraterrestrials had little difficulty wiping
out almost all of humanity. The plague bombs had got rid of almost
all humans, and the few survivors were almost all eliminated by the
flying laser robots. But rather than choosing to destroy mankind
entirely, the invaders decided to save a tiny little group of human
beings, who were put on a little island, a little zoo that could be
watched by discreetly hidden cameras.
Depressed
by mankind's dismal defeat, many of the humans on the island
committed suicide. The population of the island fell below the
recommended level for the long-term survival of the little human
preservation colony. So the alien invaders altered the memories of
the surviving humans, replacing their real memories of a crushing
defeat with artificial memories of a glorious victory. The
intervention worked, and the suicides stopped.
Now
dear reader, please ask yourself: could it be that one of your own
cherished beliefs is as false as the beliefs of these men on this
little island?
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