Mat Dickie and The Scientists.

fj.mail, 18/12/2009 16:05:47:
Mat Dickie waited. The lights above him blinked and sparked out of the air. There were scientists in the base. He didn't see them, but had expected them now for years. His warnings to game industry were not listenend to and now it was too late. Far too late for now, anyway.
Mat was an artist for fourteen years. When he was young he played the games and he said to dad "I want to be on the game development daddy."
Dad said "No! You will BE KILL BY SCIENTISTS"
There was a time when he believed him. Then as he got oldered he stopped. But now in the catholic school he knew there were scientists
"This is artists" the radio crackered. "You must fight the scientists!"
So Mat gotted his art form by the throat and draged it to its apex.
"HE GOING TO REPLACE US" said the scientists
"I will discuss with him" said the cyberscientist and he fired the scientific arguments. Mat deflected at him and tried to deliver innovative concepts that simply cannot be found anywhere else. But then the ceiling fell and they were trapped and not able to discuss.
"No! I must replace the scientists" he shouted
The radio said "No, Mat. You are the scientists"
And then Mat was a game developer.

Many miles away, there was a beautiful and intelligent Artist named Dosii.
She had loved Mat the artist, and he her.
But on checking her communication device one fate-filled day,
 which usually resulted in a cheeky little smirk and a chuckle,
this day brought a choked whelp and a horrified stare.
Mat the artist was dead, the device exclaimed heartlessly.
Why, and How, she questioned the device, but there was no response.

Slowly, the small stereo indicator on the radio faded out, as the music faded to static.
Mat the scientist could not understand what had happened, all he knew was that it was very dark, and he was alone.
Haunted by the Great Loss of things that had not yet been, and might now never, he set up an advanced series of experiments, to try to uncover what had been lost.
But no matter how hard he tried, predicting the future even of the past was NP-complete, and a completely intractible puzzle.
Plus it was very dark, and he could hardly read the notes as he scribed them.

Three animals of the zodiac had almost past, as Mat turned to recall his dying moments as an artist.
He had been very foolish, even as an artist, to dare try to predict what the future held.
A small splinter of doubt had grasped him, and the self-fulfilling-prophecy of him not being good enough, had fulfilled itself.