SOCIAL ENGINEERING

The Daily Procedure

The Vignette Gazette Edition #194–Chaos

Photo by Jonathan Francisca on Unsplash

The first successful application of human miniaturization was not scientific.

It was domestic.

An old person became one-tenth of the original height. The procedure could not be reversed. A nutrient solution replaced meals. The body reduced its requests until the family could answer all of them before breakfast.

The newspapers described the invention as liberation.

Nobody specified who had been liberated.

Hospitals became quieter.

Nursing homes became archives.

Families remained families.

Only the furniture changed.

Transparent cases appeared beside windows.

Nobody questioned the windows.

Windows had accepted flowers for centuries.

They accepted grandparents with the same silence.

The windows submitted no complaint.

Every morning the solution was replaced.

Every afternoon the glass was disinfected.

No fingerprints remained.

No uncertainty remained.

Every evening someone said,

“Good night.”

The old people answered.

The answers arrived slowly enough to improve everyone’s patience.

Patience became visible.

People admired visible things.

Invisible things had never accepted accounting.

Love accepted a maintenance schedule.

Fresh solution.

Clean glass.

Correct temperature.

Three minutes.

Anyone could complete the sequence.

Anyone could complete the day.

The word compassion gradually stopped behaving like an emotion.

It behaved better as a routine.

The government congratulated the public.

The public congratulated itself.

Both ceremonies required very little preparation.

One afternoon, a kindergarten teacher asked,

“Who has a pet?”

A girl answered,

“A rabbit.”

Another answered,

“A turtle.”

One boy stood up.

“My grandpa.”

The teacher smiled.

“So your grandfather lives with your family.”

The boy inspected the sentence as though it belonged to someone else.

Then he returned it.

“No.

My grandpa is our pet.”

The sentence remained in the classroom.

It occupied more space than the children.

Nobody argued with it.

Nobody agreed with it.

The classroom smoothly transferred the sentence to the teacher’s bag.

The kitchen received the vegetables from the mother.

The father unfolded the newspaper.

The newspaper unfolded the father’s evening.

The boy ran to the transparent case.

“I’m home.”

The old man raised his eyes.

Outside the window, the flowers required water.

Inside the window, the old man required replacement solution.

The family completed both procedures before dinner.

Neither flower nor grandfather expressed dissatisfaction.

Several months later, the Ministry published another report.

The report celebrated the continuing success of the Comprehensive Human Assistance for Old-age Support program.

The title occupied half the first page.

The abbreviation occupied only one line.

CHAOS.

The abbreviation occupied less space.

It also occupied more minds.

[embed]A Chaotic Bonus Prompt The Vignette Gazette Edition #194–Chaosmedium.com

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Note Originally written in Japanese. Self-translated with a well‑worn dictionary, minimal AI assistance and guesswork.

MJS