Chapter 1: The Edge of Wealth

In a vivid daydream, a tale unfolds that promises to provoke profound realizations.

by author

A wealthy man stood precariously at the brink of an enormous chasm, his sneakers shining brightly. The way his toes dangled over the edge sparked a mix of terror and thrill among onlookers.

by author

The circular abyss, spanning a quarter mile, was so impeccably formed that airline pilots were warned against tilting their planes to peer into it—one glimpse could shatter their understanding of flight and sanity alike. This hole had consumed entire aircraft and driven satellites into chaos, transforming them into streaks of light across the sky.

by author

Alone on one side of the void, the affluent figure faced the throngs of ordinary people on the opposite side, their phones and cameras capturing his stillness, broadcasting it to an eager world.

by author

A world held its breath, witnessing the first-ever participant in a nascent sport: "The Unassisted Flight of Man," which would ultimately be dubbed simply "Flight."

Flight was reborn, unassisted—no engines, no wings, no fuselages. Just one man, soaring high above, completely alone and immensely wealthy.

The rich man leaned forward, gazing into the depths, having spent years anticipating the completion of his hole.

by author

He had dismissed proposals for smaller holes that could be finished more quickly, scoffing, "Save it for the trillionaires." This callous remark ignited a crisis of identity among the trillionaires, each vowing, in secret, to amass true wealth.

No, the rich man desired grandeur and received it. Yet, he had to exercise patience. Gravity, that relentless force, dictated the pace of construction.

Once the excavation teams departed, builders had to contend with gravity while adding every conceivable structure to the walls of the chasm.

Thousands of times, he had positioned himself at the edge, peering impatiently at the slowly developing neighborhoods and cities, forming like barnacles on the walls of the hole.

One thousand, eight hundred miles of descending communities, all illuminated with a sinister yet alluring glow, a sight only appreciated by those who bore the weight of immense wealth.

by author

Though these structures had modern amenities, the wealthy man forbade anyone from residing in them, fearing the stains humanity could leave behind.

Instead, he filled his homes and towers with predictable inhabitants—robots encased in silicone and rubber, dressed in ever-changing fashions. The central air column was simulated weather created by "cloud factories," cleverly disguised as nuclear power plants.

As one would expect, the interior of the hole was lined with artificially crafted days and nights, produced by luminous orbs simulating moons and suns, all mounted on telescoping shafts.

The rich man grinned as he waited for the day when his contractor would humbly declare, “My dear sir, it is complete.”

The agony of anticipation was palpable. Though he could afford to age invisibly, no amount of wealth could stave off the toll of waiting as he stared into the chasm.

Waiting. Waiting. More waiting.

The core—the scientists discovered it was hollow and ripe for claiming. “You could claim it.”

And he did.

If you care to know, it wasn't just neighborhoods that adorned the walls of the hole. No, that wouldn't depict our world accurately, would it?

There were also artificial landscapes: mountains, forests, deserts, oceans, etc. All complex to produce.

by author

To create oceans, crews pumped saltwater beneath sheets of gleaming plexiglass, polished daily to achieve an air of mystery. Deserts were crafted with sculpted dunes, and photorealistic painters made them appear even more lifelike than actual sand.

The same meticulous approach applied to mountains, forests, tundras, glaciers, and savannas. Aroma experts ensured each landscape emitted the appropriate scents.

A challenging endeavor, indeed.

Decades passed.

“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” the rich man mused, though he felt no wisdom in that. He wanted Rome now—yesterday, at birth.

He wept.

Yet, despite his lack of wisdom, he understood patience. Finally…

The day arrived.

Standing at the edge, hand raised, he summoned the flash of cameras and the sparkle of phones, creating an illumination that threatened to overshadow the very sun itself.

The silence that followed signaled anticipation—would he speak, or merely wave?

He chose the latter, transforming silence into a collective gasp. Every hand not occupied by devices lifted in salute.

Donning his goggles, arms spread wide, he smiled at no one (yet everyone!), tipped forward, and then…

He leapt!

A mass gasp echoed, followed by a roar of cheers, which he would replay endlessly to evoke tears in the days and years that followed. As he fell, the wind in his ears drowned out the cheers, and the increasing distance from the crowd muted life’s pressures.

In every moment of his descent toward the Earth’s core, he finally found peace—contentment.

A fortunate man. A wealthy man. But the rich man was a flying rich man, possessing everything and more.

He soared through life-sized neighborhoods at breathtaking speeds, over cities, mountains, deserts, and oceans, down, down, into the waiting core. In other words, the abyss—his abyss.

by author

With the speed and elegance of a released neutron, he entered the core—a vast, rocky chamber the size of Earth’s core—and felt gravity’s embrace from all sides.

Initially swinging back and forth, he eventually settled into the center, welcoming the intense gravitational pressure like a long-awaited embrace.

by author

After a retrieval team brought him back to the surface, he emerged into a changed world—one captivated by the sport of Flight.

Trillionaires, inspired by his achievement, created their own Flight holes, mesmerizing disobedient pilots and satellites, transforming Earth into a honeycomb of competitive sport.

by author

Rich individuals donned sleek Flight suits, diving into their holes, soaring through modern and ancient replicas of civilizations: Jericho, Carthage, Constantinople, Athens, Atlantis, and of course, Rome.

It goes without saying that these magnificent spaces were filled with silicone-and-rubber automatons programmed to greet their wealthy flyers with enthusiasm.

by author

The joyous roars cascaded down into the Earth as the rich men raced through their Flight holes.

The planet opened her many mouths wide, breathing in the praises of the wealthy.

Meanwhile, the majority of Earth's inhabitants—the laborers, those unable to seize opportunities—lived their mundane lives on the land bridges connecting the Flight holes.

In winter, they sought warmth from the rising heat; in summer, they craved the cool breezes.

The hungry—representing ninety-nine percent of the population—gathered to savor the aroma of real food wafting from the holes.

The affluent could not manufacture obedient humans to inhabit their towns, but they could create genuine food.

Realism was paramount.

Those rich men who inhaled the faint odor of decaying plastic cuisine struggled to focus on the complexities of Flight.

However, the only drawback to their joy was the core.

They grew weary of renting airspace from the original flier—the rich man.

They were tired of his core regulations, his core guards, and the flight schedules dictating when they could take off into the core.

They could not wait. Would not.

This led to a remarkable occurrence.

An idea blossomed in the minds of the rich:

“Take dictation. I will fly anyhow. In other words, I will fly RIGHT NOW!”

The wealthy perched on the edges of their holes, mockingly waving at the rich man and his historic first flight. Then came the familiar ritual: goggles on, smiles for no one (again, everyone!), and they tipped forward, and…

They leapt!

by author

The uproar from the automatons in every Flight hole echoed down to the core, shaking the ground.

The laborers trembled, exclaiming, “Earthquake! Earthquake! Or so we think! We lack education and courage!”

The flying rich raced toward the core, all arriving at the conclusion that the first to reach it would own the concept of Flight—a realization the original rich man had already grasped.

Long before the others reached the core, he was there, enveloped in its center, waiting to declare ownership.

But he never had the chance.

What came out was not a proclamation, but a scream. He screamed as he witnessed countless Flight holes erupting with wealthy men all at once, racing toward him at astonishing speed—neutron speed—heading for the coveted center.

Oh, how he screamed.

They screamed.

by author

In a cataclysmic convergence of flesh and bone, they collided, creating a burst of blood and debris that scattered outward, forming a moon-sized sphere of wealthy corpses, with the original rich man at its core.

In the embrace