There’s a certain kind of horror that doesn’t come from things that go bump in the night. It doesn’t wear a hockey mask or drag its claws down your bedroom wall. No, this is a different breed altogether—a creeping dread born not of monsters but of men. Men with too much money and too little faith in mortality.
Let me tell you about cryonics, friends. Cryonics—the art (if we can call it that) of freezing human bodies after death, encasing them in liquid nitrogen like some macabre popsicle, all in the hope that one day science will advance far enough to thaw them out, fix whatever killed them, and grant them a second chance at life. Or maybe even eternal life. Sounds like science fiction, right? Like something out of an Isaac Asimov novel or a particularly ambitious episode of Black Mirror ? Well, buckle up, because it’s real. And billionaires are betting big on it.
The article I read—oh yes, I saw it plain as day, sitting there on my screen like a bad omen—talks about how America’s wealthiest citizens have started pouring their fortunes into cryonic facilities. These aren’t just rich guys looking to avoid taxes; these are visionaries (or lunatics, depending on who you ask) convinced they can cheat death itself. They’ve signed up with companies like Alcor and the Cryonics Institute, paying hundreds of thousands—or sometimes millions—for the privilege of being frozen solid when their time comes.
And why wouldn’t they? If you’re already swimming in cash, what’s a few hundred grand more to buy yourself a ticket to the future? To wake up in a world where cancer is cured, aging is optional, and robots do all the heavy lifting? Where humanity has colonized Mars and cured heartbreak? Who wouldn’t want that?
But here’s the thing about immortality—it’s never quite as simple as it seems. There’s always a catch, isn’t there? A shadow lurking behind the promise of endless tomorrows. You see, cryonics isn’t just a scientific endeavor; it’s also a leap of faith. Faith that the technology to revive you will exist someday. Faith that whoever inherits the Earth will care enough to unfreeze you. Faith that the people running these facilities won’t screw it up, won’t run out of funding, won’t let power failures turn you into a block of ice chips.
Faith, my dear reader, is a fragile thing. Especially when you’re trusting strangers to keep you alive long after everyone you ever loved has turned to dust.
Imagine it, if you dare: centuries pass. Civilizations rise and fall. Wars rage. Pandemics sweep across continents. And somewhere, deep underground in a sterile facility filled with rows upon rows of silver tanks, your body lies suspended in limbo. Your brain—your precious consciousness—is locked inside a shell colder than the Arctic winter. Waiting. Hoping. Praying that someone, someday, remembers you exist.
What happens if they don’t? What happens if the lights go out and no one flips the switch back on? What happens if the future decides you’re not worth saving? After all, history has shown us time and again that humans are fickle creatures. We forget. We move on. We leave things behind.
And then there’s the question no one seems willing to ask: What if they succeed? What if, against all odds, they bring you back? Will you step blinking into a world you no longer recognize? Will you find yourself alone, adrift in a sea of strangers? Will you wish you’d stayed dead?
I’ll admit, there’s something undeniably seductive about the idea of living forever. Who among us hasn’t stared into the void and whispered, “Not yet”? But eternity is a heavy burden to bear. It’s not just the years stretching ahead of you—it’s the weight of everything you’ve left behind. Every face you’ll never see again. Every voice you’ll never hear. Every moment lost to time.
Cryonics promises salvation, but it feels more like a bargain with the devil. Sure, you might get to live another lifetime—or ten—but at what cost? At what price does immortality come? Because nothing in this world—or any other—is truly free.
So here’s my advice: tread carefully, dear reader. Dream of tomorrow if you must, but don’t lose sight of today. Don’t trade the warmth of the present for the cold embrace of the unknown. Death may be frightening, but it’s also inevitable. And perhaps, just perhaps, that’s okay.
Because while the billionaires of the world chase eternity in steel coffins, the rest of us mere mortals still have something they’ll never understand: the beauty of a life lived fully, however fleeting it may be.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pour myself a drink and watch the sunset. While I still can.
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