Monte Cristo Fallacy

Eleven O’clock.

As the sun rose on October 6, 2050, Oldtown, Maryland, was peacefully settled and ready for the day’s events. By midday, residents would assemble at the Oldtown High gym entrance for a senior citizen bingo game called " The Choice."

My town was awakening, just like I was, filled with a mix of anticipation and anxiety; how will I recover if I lose today? Looking up at the bright blue sky and feeling the gentle breeze under my jacket, I began to feel more relaxed, gradually moving away from the stakes of gambling. Today, I believe I can win.

Senior Bingo takes place on this day each year and is celebrated all around the world, attracting a diverse group of spectators all hoping for a chance. In many regions around the globe, the game typically starts in the morning, as it can last all day. However, it began later in Oldtown, where the population was smaller. Younger residents often preferred an earlier conclusion to bingo so they could return to their regular schedules, as there were things that needed to be done.

Eleven thirty.

“Can you believe how my grandbabies are getting bigger?” I smiled and said, my eyes sparkled as I watched my three grandchildren playing in the lush green grass by the school playground with all the other kids in the neighborhood. The kids played wherever their little legs carried them; they ignored the October wind while their grandparents huddled together for warmth. It appeared that nature had no control over them.

“Yeah…I know; it seems like just yesterday they were babies,” my husband, Harold, responded with a smile. “They’re sharper than we ever were at that age, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely!” I laughed. “ Remember, I told you that the other day how these kids are coming up with ideas that I never thought of! Just the other day, Little Britt, three years old, showed me how to fix my own phone! Whew, we were nothing like that.”

I held the bingo card I was required to bring and thought back to the memories from my childhood. I remember that playing bingo was easy, as simple as 1-2-3. But nothing seemed simple anymore; even the weather felt unpredictable. Instead of the usual damp, earthy smell of fall, the air had a summer scent mixed with the chill of winter.

My best friend, Edith Braddock, grinned and then said, “Harold, do you really do twenty push-ups every morning just to keep up with the kids' energy?”

Harold smiled with pride as he nodded. “I even finished a ten-mile run just last week!”

I rolled my eyes teasingly, “Oh, Harold, hush; you’re just trying to show off. Come on now,” I said, quickly heading toward the bingo table. “See if you can keep up with me!”

Edith laughed. “I think we all need to keep up!”

As we moved forward, people began to gather, children played, adults laughed, and joyful conversations made the gathering feel like family. “I’m so glad we can all be together like this,” I said, wrapping my arms around Harold.

Twelve o'clock, noon.

My middle son, Benjamin, or as I like to call him, Benji, walked in, his slender frame and serious demeanor making him look like the man of the hour. He arrived at the gathering, holding a steel box with a single-turn handle. A soft murmur arose among the crowd. He scanned the area without making eye contact, then said, “Let’s get started.” Over a hundred seniors gathered around Benjamin, including me. I handed him my bingo card, just as all the seniors did. Harold, observed from a distance, was convinced that I had a good chance of winning today and would achieve victory, just as he had the year before. Having come close in the past, today could very well be my day.

“Alright, it’s time,” Benjamin said, his indifference clear as he turned the box’s handle.

“Do you think mine will be picked?” I whispered to Edith as she stood next to me.

But I wasn’t the only one; everyone was whispering as the tension was rising.

“Remember, we’re all in this together,” Harold reminded everyone, focusing on me and assuring me of hope.

Benjamin stopped cranking and opened the box. “The first card is…”

The crowd leaned in, breathless. The air was thick with anticipation and worry. I could see it on everyone’s face. But all I could think about was whether I could beat and win at bingo; it changes everything. And why is Benji taking so long calling these names?

Finally, he said, “Mrs. Edith Braddock!”

Noise erupted from one side while people searched the crowd for Edith.

“I’m here,” Edith said and moved to the front to stand beside Benjamin.

Benjamin nodded to confirm that he was on task and ready to make another choice. “Next!” He needed to play his role accurately, facilitating the day’s events smoothly. Every year, the machine randomly selects the person to host the bingo. The night before, he and my daughter-in-law prepared slips of paper and distributed them to the mail slots of all the new seniors in the community who were turning sixty-seven.

“Mrs. Mariam Cooper.” My son announced nonchalantly, his eyes fixed on the instructions. I was familiar with the routine and moved forward when my name was called. I hugged my best friend of forty years, Edith, as we held each other's hands tightly. Then I smiled indiscreetly at my son, who was still trying to avoid my gaze, and Harold wore a look of victory, determined not to show anything but that. The grandchildren continued playing on the playground, as the excitement of the bingo game didn't align with their idea of what was important.

As Benjamin was about to call out a few more names, the youthful, stunning, and ever-spotlight-stealing Mrs. Billie Williamson hurried down the path to the crowd. “I lost track of the day,” she remarked to anyone willing to listen. Laughter erupted. “I really did! I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Billie added. “ My husband was not on the sofa, where he lounges every day. I don’t know how he got here alone, with a walker, nonetheless! Where is he!?”

I rolled my eyes when I saw Billie approach, as she was not one of my favorite people. Then I responded, “You’ve come at the right moment; they’re still announcing names. He’s nearby.” I leaned toward Edith and whispered, “Billie isn’t concerned about her husband. This is what happens when an old goat marries a young kid.”

Billie stretches her neck to peer over the crowd and finally spots her husband. She gave me a quick shove on the back before approaching Mr. Williamson. As the crowd parted to let her through, a few voices playfully shouted to Mr. Williamson, “Here comes your Billie." And most of the crowd broke out into laughter.

When Billie finally reached her husband, he expressed his frustration with her, saying, "I thought I was going to have to stand here alone." Billie grinned and replied, “Old man, you got here alone.” Laughter filled the air as everyone settled back into place.

“Okay, everyone, please settle down,” Benjamin said, inhaling as he gathered his thoughts. “Let’s just go through this and move on to the next step. Once we finish this, everyone can get back to work.” For a moment, when I looked at his face, I sensed he was thinking of me. Beneath that mechanical exterior lies a true heart.

Twelve Thirty

"Ladies and gentlemen, please pay careful attention," Benjamin stated sternly, yet I could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "You are on the verge of making a decision unlike any other you have ever faced. Those names I have called will enter the school gymnasium door, where they will confront three additional doors, each holding a different fate. The first door... that door opens onto emptiness in the room, which leads to another year of life. But don’t forget, you might find yourself back in the Senior Bingo Lottery next year. It’s a gamble. Behind the second door, the machines have created a blue pill that follows their wellness algorithm. When taken, it reverses the aging process; its purpose is to enhance your value to the world, specifically in the eyes of the machines—finally, the last door—the door that leads…well… to a casualty. No one knows what’s behind that door, and those who enter never return to share their story, which only leads us to believe your time on this earth has expired. However, as we all know, we will all eventually face death someday as we age, so hopefully you can find comfort in that. So, choose wisely, for each option carries its own consequences. What lies ahead is in your hands.

Everyone listening had gotten so used to this ritual that many repeated Benjamin's words as he spoke. Most stayed quiet, opting not to say their goodbyes or show any emotion, since that implies they believed someone would choose the third door.

This marked Edith's first time, and it was my second. Mr. Williamson has faced the “choice” for the past four years, securing an additional year each time despite his disability. The world called people like him an “Extender.” Apparently, fate smiled at him.

Twelve-forty five

Twenty-four brave seniors and I opened the door to the building and entered a large, somewhat empty room featuring three white doors with brass handles. In the corner of the room stood a large mechanical structure that was buzzing loudly, though softer than my heartbeat.

There we were, standing before the curious white doors in a dimly lit room. Our hearts raced as we exchanged looks of fear. A chill ran down my spine, mixing exhilaration, questions, and dread. Humming noises came from the machines, echoing all around, reminding us of our fate.

No one said a word. The only thing I could think to say was, “Well, here we are, people. Three doors and a whole lot of uncertainty. Which one do we choose?”

“I don’t know, Miriam,” Edith replied, nervously turning her wedding ring. Would choosing death really be so terrible? Then I could be with Egar," she thought, conveying just how much she missed her husband.

“It’s not like there’s much choice; I mean, we technically do have a choice, but…” Mr. Williamson murmured, Oldtown’s wealthiest resident. “…The machines made all the decisions for us long ago. I’m an Extender, I survived before. I don’t want to gamble like this anymore. This could very well be my last. I think my wife, Billie, would be happy about that.”

“Well, I want my DNA altered,” I said. “What good am I to Harold if I come back another year? We may appear to be the same age on the outside, but not on the inside. After he took the blue pill, he’s technically younger than me. Doing pushups and running miles around the neighborhood. I hate it!”

I looked around the room at the confused and sad faces before me and realized that someone had to try to think logically. It was like an “aha” moment when I said, “Maybe we should just pick a door together.”

A look of possible hope sprang onto most faces.

“Strength in numbers? If we all step through one door, at least we’ll face whatever comes next together.”

Edith nodded thoughtfully. “That’s not a bad idea. Though I hope we pick the right door. I mean, who wants to meet death today?”

A low chuckle came from the back of the group. “Well, I’ve lived a long life. If it’s my time, so be it. Everybody doesn’t have young Billie waiting home, right, Mr. Williamson?”

I narrowed my eyes to see who made the slightly offensive remark, only to discover it was Frank Mosley—an elder with wild white hair and, unfortunately, a peculiar sense of humor. While I didn’t know him well, his face was familiar from the local grocery store. So I said in his direction, “You might think that way now, but I don’t want any machines determining my fate. I’m still alive and living my life! We’ve dedicated years to gathering memories and experiences… Would you really toss all that aside?”

“I’m not afraid of death, Mariam,” Frank said, his tone indicating a deeper familiarity, with a more serious note entering his voice. "However, I want some control over what happens to me next. I also refuse to be an Extender; I don’t want to return here again.”

“What if none of us make it back?” Mr. Williamson moaned, glancing at the doors, almost paralyzed by fear and forgetting that he was physically impaired as well. “What if we’re just playing a game with fate?”

Before anyone could respond, the machine’s cold voice filled the room. “Please select your door within the next two minutes. Once chosen, you will proceed to the corresponding outcome: Year of life, reverse aging, or expire.”

“I don’t know which is worse,” murmured Edith, gripping Miriam’s arm. “Staying stuck in this cycle or facing an end with no more chances.”

“The year of life gives us time, yes,” Someone else argued. “But reverse aging… think of all we could do! We could reclaim our memories and feel young again!”

“Or we could lose more than we gain,” Frank replied softly. “Remember, that’s the thing about choices. We don’t know how they’ll play out.”

Miriam took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do this together. On the count of three. One… two...”

“Wait!” Edith shouted. “What if we don’t choose at all? What if we reject the machine’s choices? We don’t know if the world will fall apart, as we’ve been led to believe by machines. This world needs us. Yes, I’m talking about us old people. We have a lot of knowledge. We lived history.”

The room became silent, and the tension was sharp. “Can we even do that? Can we reject the machines?” Most asked at various times.

“Why not?” I replied, defiance showing in my eyes. “We’re more than what the machines think we are. We may be unable to fight them, but we have our will.”

“Then let’s do it!” Frank shouted; his fear was replaced with determination. “We can stand together and beat the system! We are better together!”

“Better Together!” everyone rallied, voices ringing out in unison.

Like a strong team, we stood together in front of the three doors, a united front prepared to face whatever lay ahead. “Alright, on three, we choose not to choose!” I boldly proclaimed. I then blurted, “Ready…One… two… three!”

Silence filled the room as the machines hummed again. “Please select your room.”

A sharp voice came out of nowhere, but we were not budging on our refusal to allow the persistent machines to rush our fate.

In that moment, we realized our power; we had a “choice.” It was not about choosing a door but about uniting against the control imposed on our freedom to choose. As we stood together in agreement, we felt a new sense of victory over the machines that had once controlled our lives. “Let’s reclaim who we are!” we shouted. And for the first time in years, we felt truly alive. The machine spoke again, “Time's up. You have made a choice.” Gunshots erupted. The air was filled with shouting, and then a peaceful silence covered everything.