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Farewell To Timothy Eichman
The tragedy of Utopia
"Who is the happier man, he who has braved the storm of life and lived, or he who has stayed securely on shore and merely existed?"
(Hunter S. Thompson)
38217 Duremes Path
Voure, Colony 3675, PS34 55674-0982-2
Saturday, April 24, 2128
My Dear Friend:
I pray your morning was more pleasant than mine. I write this under the dull flicker of an antique lantern, which provides the only source of light to this cavern in which I am hidden. By the time you read this, I will have passed through the great door of Life, so I don't expect a reply. The sun will be up soon, and the hunt will once again intensify, so I'll have to make this brief.
It has been more than thirty-six years since you departed my colony, and to be a bit audacious, I have accomplished many great things in that time. However, I never lost sight of the Dream, keep that in mind; the drive to live in parity as humans was always the main force behind my actions. For a short time, my good man, I had it all: pure equality in every facet of our existence, from the workload to the household, and what's more, we taught our children the Truth, rather than the empty rhetoric that was shoveled to us when we were young.
As you may remember, it took me nearly a decade just to secure my colonization permit from the Council. I had no investors, and no support for my ambition. It did turn out for the better, for it took me almost that entire time to simply round up a group of 100 who were willing to leave everything "civilized" behind and start fresh.
Thankfully, I was able to acquire an atmosphere almost identical to that of the ancient Australian aborigines. We lived off the land, enjoying the meat from wild perijuas and the illustrious Great Barknucks, as well as the sweet sauces that come from the various plants and berries that flourish on this beautiful landscape. We all did our fair share: the strongest hunted, while the rest gathered fruits and so forth. Our catch was that men were not the only ones to hunt. Several women joined our hunting parties, while their men stayed home. To be completely honest, our strongest hunter is Nicole, a drop-dead gorgeous 19-year-old woman who can catch anything on this planet.
Inevitably, the women started getting pregnant. In fact, by 2098, all but three of our fifty ladies had children either at home or on the way. I made certain to celebrate each birth individually, so as to start everyone off with a sense of belonging. Durkheim taught us about the tragedy of anomie, and I did everything in my power to prevent anyone from feeling isolated.
Life was marvelous here for some time. When the women who hunted became pregnant, the rest would bring them meat when it was needed. Every family was egalitarian, and we all seemed to have a sense that we were winning. Our men cherished their women in a way that I never imagined possible, and in return, the women adored their men with an absolute fervor. When parental duties came about, decisions were made only after both parents discussed the matter thoroughly, and the children were related to as humans rather than slaves.
The school I developed is probably my most prized accomplishment. My opinion has always been that true power comes not from weapons or money, but from knowledge. The constant quest for Truth is my top priority, and therefore all instruction followed the Socratic Method, where children were encouraged to interject. The result was an amazing expansion in intellectual might, not only in the students, but in the instructors as well.
We followed no formal models, rather, children advanced at their own pace. The sky is the limit when it comes to the evolution of the human mind, and when motivated, children tend to want to learn as much about everything as possible. Furthermore, any and all labeling was strictly prohibited, regardless of reason.
And this, my friend, may be my folly. I have ignored reason, and now I am suffering the consequences. As you can imagine, our Shangri-La was a desired paradise for many. I did my best to fend off the outside worlds, but it was to no avail. Before long, our home was a damn tourist attraction, with outsiders coming by the multitudes.
Then one day, one of our women ran off with a visitor. There is no way that I could possibly begin to relay the impact of the vicious ripples of dissension that roared through our Eden. The men became bitter, and turned on their women. It was a ferocious civil war, and in the end, all the men (aside from myself) were dead, and only twelve women remained. They then ate the children, despite my efforts to stop them. They were in fact planning to eat me, but I broke free and made my way into the mountains east of my former utopia.
And that's where I'm at. Being eaten alive does not sound pleasant by any means, so I'll hang myself promptly after I have sent you this message via p-mail.
As always, I hope this finds you well in both mind and body. I look forward to crossing your path again, but we'll have to wait to see what God has in store for us.
Until then, I remain: