Proserpina was abducted by Hades. This happened one day when she was picking flowers in a meadow. The earth suddenly cracked open, and Hades emerged in his chariot. He seized and dragged her down into the underworld.

  The mythology—The Abduction of Proserpina, was well known and the subject of many paintings. But to Michael, nobody depicted the moment of abduction better than Gian Lorenzo Bernini, the famous 17th century Italian sculptor.

  Michael’s hands were confident and dexterous. His fingers smeared black with charcoal as a burst of ecstasy seized them. Michael raised his head again to feverishly memorise lines, forms, curves. The white Carrara marble glistened under the gallery’s golden lights. How stunningly masterful was Bernini’s work, Michael thought.

  Michael placed down his drawing pad on a side table and circled the statue group The Abduction of Proserpina in Galleria Borghese. His pupils dilated as he focused closely on the impossible details.

  “Only 23, you were only 23…” he murmured to Bernini as if he was in the room.

  His eyes then travelled to other visitors in the baroque gallery. They came and went, in and out, snapping photos, and carrying on.

  “How can you stand it!” Michael suddenly shouted. His green eyes rising like sparkling jades.

  “We can’t do this!” He lashed at the crowd like a mad fool.

  But they ignored his diatribe. They couldn’t hear him. Because he was invisible to them.

  Because—they were simply entities in the simulation he created.

  I shouldn’t have created them. He regretted. They’re annoying.

  But the gallery did not seem real without visitors. And the sculpture deserved to be seen. Even by fake people. How lonely was an empty museum? So Michael programmed them in.

  Alas, he took back his seat, wiped black fingers on cotton pants, and continued his study of the Hades and Proserpina. For days. One drawing after another, and another. Crumpled rejected sketches piled on the floor at his feet. But just like him, the dejected paper was invisible to the visiting entities circling the sculpture. That’s how he coded the program.

  So he can create, without the critique.

  He had to be careful not to ‘will’ too many things at once. This would consume too much power and fracture the simulation. Michael let the entities be and they were rather bland and unimaginative and just walked round and round the gallery rooms.

  So imagine his extreme shock when one day one of those entities raised her voice to him directly and said: “That’s a really nice sketch.”

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Michael’s chair tilted backwards with him and he fell on the floor. His pad and pencils scattered.

  All the while the other visitors continued their predicted wanderings.

  He looked up and the girl still pointed her brown eyes at him. She wore a white dress of Hellenistic style tied at the waist. Brown arms bent down to him offering help, and her smile filled the entire room with immortality.

  Has a statue come to life? “You can see me,” he stuttered.

  “Of course,” her pouty lips said. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “But…but…how?”

  “Please rise Michael and do not fear me,” and he accepted her hand. The touch was real and soft. She was not an entity but a real person just like him—but inside the simulation. Is there a bug in my coding? He wondered.

  “My name is Leila and I’ve been sent here by The Order of Earth to find you—Michael Bruno.”

  “The Order of Earth?”

  “Yes. You remember Michael, Earth? Your nation? The governing body?”

  “I…I left some time ago…”

  “Five years to be exact. You were initially declared missing by your family, then presumed dead, and finally, upon further analysis we found that you created this simulation to play-pretend artist. You shouldn’t have done that.” And she raised her dainty finger in warning.

  “So you are one of their goons!” He accused.

  “Do I look like a goon to you?” She flirted.

  No she didn’t. She looked stunning. “All the same,” he said. “I know what you are.”

  “Michael, we are wasting precious time. This has gone on long enough. This simulation is illegal and must be deleted.”

  “Then go ahead,” he provoked.

  Leila threw her head back. “You know we can’t. You hold the codes. It took our best programmers over three years to figure out a way to insert myself here via quantum neural streaming so we can talk about it like human beings.”

  “Very well,” Michael said. “Now we are talking about it. And the answer is no. I will not submit the codes and this sim will not be terminated. It’s the only place I can view Bernini’s work and study it.”

  Leila’s eyes traveled to the sculpture of Proserpina. “It’s beautiful. I agree. But for what purpose Michael?”

  “You are asking me what is art’s purpose?”

  “No, no,” she interjected. “What is YOUR purpose here in studying it? Why would you spend five years of your life inside a gallery simulation?”

  “I…I…had to…needed to…I mean! I trained these machines on famous works of art, while the actual works were removed by The Order!”

  “I know why we did what we did, Michael,” Leila batted her eyes. “You see it as harsh and unfair. But don’t you remember how it was before?”

  Yes, he remembered. The population was plagued by mental health issues. Depression. Addictions. Everybody wanted to attain a piece of cosmic heroism…

  “Now art is democratised. Anyone can create anything almost instantaneously with with AA,” she said.

  “You used me to program Artificial Art but it only resulted in the destruction of original works!” Michael angered.

  “They are not destroyed. Only sequestered.”

  “It’s the same if we have no access! How are we to train?”

  “But the machines are now trained to create. Anyone can use AA to create anything they want. Skill and talent is now uniform and equal among everybody. Even for you Michael…” she said and took the charcoal out of his hands. “Why do you need to get your fingers all dirty when you can just press a few buttons and make any Bernini statue you want?”

  Michael shook his head. These people chased him all the way here to harass him. And sent a new secret and pretty weapon to cajole him into giving the codes.

  She reminds me of Proserpina.

  “Since the uptake of AA, our health systems are reporting a great reduction in depressive symptoms. You did well, Michael. Artificial Art worked.”

  “AA worked,” Michael repeated mostly to himself. “And I’m responsible.”

  ***