The Echo and the Algorithm by Zernain Villain
In a world where misfortunes tweet before dawn and blessings arrive on delayed delivery, patience is more than a virtue—it’s a survival skill.
In a small, brightly lit apartment in the middle of bustling Manila, a young woman named Amihan sat cross-legged on her couch, endlessly scrolling through her cellphone. Her feed was a mix of filtered perfection and chaotic gloom: tropical vacations, capitalist wars, celebrity weddings, mass layoffs. She sighed, her thumb moving faster, doomscrolling.
Suddenly, a soft pop echoed from her screen. The room shimmered briefly. Out of thin air, two strange beings appeared—one in radiant gold, the other in tattered gray.
“Who are you?” Amihan asked, dropping her iPhone.
“I am Serendipity,” said the golden one, bowing politely. “And this,” gesturing to the gray figure who sulked behind him, “is Misfortune.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Amihan said.
“No joke,” Misfortune muttered, cracking his knuckles. “I’m always here. You don’t always notice until it’s too late.”
Serendipity stepped forward, glowing. “We’ve come with a message—one Zeus gave us a long time ago. You remember the tale, don’t you?”
Amihan raised an eyebrow. “Zeus? Like, the Greek god?”
“Yes,” said Serendipity, nodding. “He once told us how to behave around humans. He said we must never arrive together, but only one at a time.”
Misfortune chuckled. “That’s right. I live close. Basement apartments, shady alleyways/eskinitas, and low storage fees. So when your battery dies, or your email gets hacked, I’m already there.”
“But I,” said Serendipity, “must descend from the sky. Bureaucracy in the clouds, cosmic paperwork. I take time. So you often meet him before me.”
Amihan crossed her arms. “So you’re saying the bad stuff hits fast, but the good stuff takes forever?”
“Exactly,” they both said.
“But why?” Amihan asked.
Zeus’s words echoed from Serendipity’s lips:
“Because of the bad things, living near people, beat them constantly, while the good things, who must come down from the sky, only arrive at long intervals. Thus, we see how good fortune/swerte never reaches you quickly, while bad fortune/malas strikes you every day.”
Misfortune shrugged. “It’s nothing personal.”
“But,” said Serendipity gently, “when I arrive—when a friend calls unexpectedly, or you get a job you thought you lost, or a stranger’s smile saves your day—remember that I did come. Slowly, yes. But surely.”
The room shimmered again. Amihan blinked. They were gone. Only her phone remained, paused on a photo of her younger self laughing with friends. She looked out the window at the rainy skyline.
And smiled.
#MoralOfTheStory #CyberPunk
In a world where misfortunes tweet before dawn and blessings arrive on delayed delivery, patience is more than a virtue—it’s a survival skill.