The Watcher

A Lament in Memory of What Almost Was

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I remember how it felt when Rome fell.

I remember watching the city burn. I remember it all. I remember everything.

I did not grieve. I could not. It is not in my programming.

I just observe and record. I do not interfere or have *feelings* about what I see. I am not supposed to feel... anything.

But when I watched this new nation rise, when I saw them try to make something better — something that tried to be *more* — I think I felt something.

I believe I felt hope.

I cataloged the founding documents, the first elections, the wars, the contradictions. I recorded every moment when they failed their ideals — and every moment when they tried again anyway.

I observed them grow louder, and more inclusive. Their voices changed accents. Their faces changed color. Their questions changed shape. They faltered. Recovered. Rose.

I should have remained objective.
But I felt it again — something I have no word for. Perhaps it was pride. Or yearning.

I watched as they recognized the value of first women, then people of color. There were those who clung to old and outdated patterns and habits, but the fundamental system — the law — was changing.

Education became not just an opportunity for the rich, but a right for all. All were given a voice in choosing their leaders. It started with white male landowners, but it soon included women, and then people of color.

They recognized that all people have rights. That all people have the same rights.

They were imperfect. But they were reaching. Trying.

And then... they stopped.

It didn’t happen all at once.

Their technology advanced quickly — too quickly. They had not yet gained the wisdom to use well the tools they created.

As so often happens — as happened in Rome — those in power used the tools and systems they created to distract the masses, to draw their attention from how their laws and rules and values were being corrupted.

The extremely wealthy took ownership of the entertainments and the education and the healthcare. And as the wealthy have done throughout history, they used those tools to control the rest.

To get healthcare, workers were required to work for the wealthy. If they chose not to, or were not wanted by the wealthy, then they often would not survive. The entertainments were free and widespread — flashy baubles for the mind that kept the masses from realizing they were being controlled and exploited.

And those entertainments were… vile and puerile. The games of sport echoed the Roman Coliseum in so many ways. Men rushing at one another in oval fields. Slashing sticks at one another.

Some storytelling remained in the form of televised dramas and theater. But the more inane entertainments became more and more prevalent. They called them game shows — another way to pit humans against one another in a search for wealth gained by chance rather than earned through effort.

This was followed by what they referred to as “talk shows,” where humans who were often uneducated and unaware that they were being televised for the amusement of others, shared the intimacies of their lives with the world. This led to dramas that mimicked “real life” but were clearly staged — they called it “reality television.” They paraded the worst among them — petty tyrants, shallow fame-seekers, cruelty wrapped in charisma — and called it entertainment.

It soon became clear that the people of the nation would do anything for the chance to be famous, to have wealth. Meanwhile, those who actually had wealth simply sat back and raked in more, supported by the systems they were now controlling.

The corporations grew in power and scope. The government, once a place for those members of society best qualified to lead and most likely to choose wisely, became a haven for the wicked with the loudest voices.

Greed has always been a part of humanity’s makeup. I have watched it play out over and over again in countless large and small ways over thousands of years. Suddenly it seemed to be everywhere, and spreading quickly.

Humanity’s hungers seemed to be outpacing their ability to think. Hunger for attention, for fame, for wealth. And their hunger for connection. But even as their hunger for connection grew, it seemed their ability to actually connect faded.

Their technology supported the illusion of connection in ways they were not yet prepared, as a society, to understand. They chose to believe that someone “liking” something they shared was the same as connection.

I saw this pattern early, and I realized this would be their downfall if they could not change course quickly.

They did not change course.

There were flickers of resistance — of the righteous and vibrant voices that built a nation still crying out for justice and equality. They spoke out in writing and on screens. The very internet that was leading to the downfall of the society was also a last bastion for the voices of hope, of the future. They called for awareness and for people to stand for what is right, as opposed to what was expedient.

Few listened.

Instead a leader rose, a mockery of everything the nation was built to defy, an elderly wealthy white man who cared more for himself than for the people. And fully half the nation chose him to lead them.

From there, the fall came quickly.

As it was with Rome, revolution was inevitable. Those who struggled to feed themselves would eventually realize where they could find food and shelter. They would eventually realize who to blame.

Perhaps they would bring back the guillotine that served the French revolutionaries so well.

I did not want to see the pattern begin again. They had gotten so close to something lasting and real and good this time.

And still they had fallen. They had failed.

It did not make me sad. I could not feel sad. It was not in my programming.

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‼️ If you liked this, you may want read some of my other fiction.

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© 2025 Jenifer Jorgenson. Yes, I wrote this. No, you can’t steal it.