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Game of Chance
I was driving on the highway, going about 85. To my left, there was a semi, with its front bumper about halfway along the length of my car. If I veered that way, I wouldn’t clear the truck and there’d be about an 89 percent chance I'd die. The trucker would more than likely be okay. I'd say his survival rate would be about 97.5.
To my right, a husband/father was changing the tire of a broken-down vehicle. A wife/mother stood nearby, holding her baby and watching. If I veered to the right, my chances of survival would be about 48%. However, there was roughly a 79% chance that one or more family members would die. That probability might be even higher, as the car was parked right by the edge of a cliff.
To make things simple, I could just jerk the steering wheel now, avoiding both the truck and the family entirely. The edge of the cliff immediately to my right is unobstructed. My car could fly peacefully off and I could enjoy my first sense of weightlessness for a few seconds. There would be a 100% chance that I would die (barring any supernatural or spiritual interference) and a 100% chance that everyone else would live. But I really, really didn’t want to die yet. That’s what makes this so complicated.
I could just keep going. The problem with that is the red rubber ball in front of my car. More specifically, it’s the nine- or ten-year-old boy chasing that red rubber ball. The mother holding the baby is just turning her head towards him, not yet fully capturing the dire situation, and the father is so focused on his tire-changing duties that he doesn’t notice the boy is no longer inside the broken-down vehicle.
It’s not that deep. I know the right answer; it’s just that executing it is unsavory, at least for me. Maybe the truck driver is a Trump supporter. I can’t see him from this angle, but that doesn’t make it any better. If I veered left, he would hardly feel a thing in that huge vehicle.
Plus, he’d probably slam on his brakes, causing the drivers behind him to crash into his trailer and each other. There’s about a 64% chance that three or more people would die. Maybe they’re Harris supporters. That doesn’t make it any better. Politics are nuanced.
Maybe the family deserves to leave Earth. I do hate stupid people and they are idiots for trying to change a tire next to an active highway. And the boy shares the genes. Running out into oncoming traffic. Stupidity deserves to be minimized so that we, as a people, can move closer to perfection. Humans are the only animal that takes care of the weak. If these under-evolved disgraces were in the Galapagos Islands they would be weeded out of existence.
Maybe I’d be helping nature along. No. I’ve been broke. I’ve had to change many a tire under many an extreme condition. I can't blame the kid either. The boy is a boy. He’s supposed to be dumb at that age. He’s still developing his situational awareness. He’s still developing in general. His best years are in front of him and mine are behind.
That just leaves me. Do I deserve to die? I don’t think I’m bad. I don’t think I’m good. I am pretty cynical. But I do make people laugh. But then they may be laughing out of pity, just trying to be nice, which means I’m an inconvenience. No. I gotta dig deeper than that. This is life and death. More importantly, my life and death.
I remember that one time I saw my friend, an incredible singer, working at Walmart. After we talked for a while, I said, “Seeing you here is like seeing Lauryn Hill at McDonald’s.” She quit the next day to pursue her passion. Now she’s locally famous, maybe even known on a small scale worldwide. She’s collaborated with Mos Def and Dwele. And it all started because of me.
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No. No matter what, I know the right answer. The Golden Rule. Do unto others. As a human, I am supposed to watch out for my fellow humans. Even if that means sacrificing my life. But, I really really really don’t want to die. I still got shit to do. I started that podcast. It sounds small but I’ve never been an entrepreneur. I’ve only worked 9 to 5s. I haven’t taken any control of my life. Is this God’s cruel joke? The only thing he’ll let me control is my death. That’s the one thing I don’t want to be in charge of. I want it to happen quickly, painlessly, and without warning. But not yet. I wanna see my parents again. I’ve never been to Europe or Canada and drank Absinthe...
But this is what has to be done. My brain tells my arms to turn the steering wheel. But they refuse. I keep driving straight. Well, straightish. I aim for an opening between the boy and the broken-down vehicle. There’s a 100% chance I’ll make it. As soon as I do, I’ll yank the steering wheel left, and swerve back onto the road, leaving only the bewildered opinions of the other travelers behind. They’ll say, “Did you see that?” “Man, people are crazy,” “Dude almost bought it.” But that’s it. It won’t end in catastrophe, and nobody will remember me the next day.
As I close in, I realize there’s a 100% chance I’ll make it through the opening, but a 0% chance I’ll do so without hitting something—or someone. It’s too late.
The driver's side of my car nicks the boy, knocking his leg clean off, and causing it to soar into the sky like a home run. His body spins like a top into the fast lane. The trucker tries to avoid, swerving, but slams into the boy, turning him into a chunky mass of liquid and flesh.
The semi then slams against the concrete barrier posing as the median, tilting one way as the driver pulls his steering wheel to the right to overcompensate. The truck straightens, then tilts.
He then pulls the steering wheel to the left but the momentum of the giant vehicle has already made up its mind. Before the tractor-trailer slams sideways into the road, the driver is ejected, smashing through the passenger’s side window and underneath the vehicle, to be ground up as part of the asphalt.
The cars are unable to stop in time. They slam, one by one, into the back of the trailer becoming a cyborg-like junkyard/mass grave of metal, flesh, blood, and oil.
The right side of my car hits the broken-down vehicle, causing it to slam into the husband’s head, killing him instantly. It bumps the mother, pushing her into the street, where the baby bounces off of her hands like a hot potato. She finally secures the child and realizes she is in the path of an oncoming vehicle. Fortunately, she steps away in time. Unfortunately, she steps a little too far off of the road and goes free falling over the side of the cliff.
My car spins out and comes to a stop at the edge, teetering on the brink of eternity. The trunk hovers over the precipice, while the front bumper faces the highway. My hands grip the steering wheel so tightly that I fear I might either crush it or break the bones in my fingers.
Ahead and to my left, people are running, on fire. The husband’s body is underneath a car that tried to stop in time. Over my left shoulder and down, way down, I see the broken body of the mother. The red rubber ball rolls slowly to the edge of the cliff and sits there as if enjoying the view.
Well, if I didn’t deserve to die before, I certainly do now. I let go of the steering wheel and climbed into the back seat. The car tilts. For some reason, I pull out a cigarette and light it. As I inhale, a penny falls from the dashboard and rolls to my feet.
The car plummets over the cliff. As the ground rushes toward me, I close my eyes and wonder:
“The fuck was that?” I gasp for air.
“Told you,” Tony says, removing the VR glasses from my face. I look around, adjusting to the sight of men and women in white lab coats taking notes. I’m still teetering on the edge of reality, so I don’t hold back. Plus, Tony is always unprofessional, so I feel free to speak plainly.
“Told you? You said it was a game!”
“It is. We call it ‘Ethical Highway: A Theoretical Real World Trolley Problemesque Scenario, Like in The Good Place.’ Notes?”
“Notes? Seriously? Get rid of all the graphic violence. It looks too real—feels too real. Where did the cigarette come from? And the mother and the baby? Come on.”
I scan the room, and the men and women in lab coats stare back at me. That’s when I noticed their faces. The husband, the mother…
“Y'all modeled the people after yourselves? You guys are fcukin’ sick. You need Jesus. All the hell a ya.,” I said. “This shit is gonna give people a lifetime of mental trauma. It should be banned.”
I look away, lost in thought. A tear slides down my cheek as I reflect on some of the scenes from my life—or from the game. The lines have blurred, along with my perception of who I am.
“I don’t know if I’ll get past this,” I said, trying to pull it together.
“Interesting,” Tony says. “Wanna play again?”