A writer should have this little voice inside of you saying, Tell the truth. Reveal a few secrets here. – Quentin Tarantino
Frustrated, The Man sat there and looked at the effervescence of his computer screen from within a desert of red. Outside of his window, the kangaroo which had been plotting for months to kill him remained there as if nothing was afoot.
The Man, eating Vegemite by the spoonful since he couldn’t use his barbie without fear of the kangaroo, was in disbelief with what had transpired in recent months. It’s as if, in his younger age, he was wiser than now. Or, a thought in the back of his head, a creeping schizophrenia was setting in.
“I need a surf, just to clear my thoughts,” he mumbled to himself.
He knew he wanted nothing to do with that which he created – his Frankenstein – the minute Gavin visited the CIA. Not long before that, when WikiLeaks turned to Bitcoin after Visa and Mastercard shut off their account, he knew the “stampede” was coming. He knew that if he stuck around the questions would be unending and he might lose his freedom over it.
So why now, in such dramatic fashion, had he stepped out into the world? Revealed himself? He couldn’t answer that for himself. So many hours staring at this screen, he couldn’t tell what thoughts were his anymore and what thoughts were those of some other Redditor. When he let himself be known – that is, his true identity – amid a hot Australian summer, he thought he could follow his plan to its conclusion. But, months ago, with winter setting in, his usual seasonal disorders led to a dizziness of thoughts upon which he couldn’t dependably act.
He had embarrassed himself and he had embarrassed the very people to whom he was so indebted – Gavin and Jon – for it was truly they who brought bitcoin, bit cash, to the world, not he. He had merely done the obvious – no, Dave had done the obvious. This is what he thought, after all.
The worst of the winter was over. Like a bear ready to come out of hibernation, The Man felt as though he’d like to try his luck once more. He took out a pencil and wrote down a note on a notepad:
“I am Craig Steven Wright,” read the first line.
Then the second line: “Craig Steven Wright is Satoshi.”
And finally: “I am Satoshi.”
Then, he erased it.
Since he made the announcement, so many expressed interest in being his friend. Before the announcement, he didn’t speak to many people and he liked it that way. People thought he was mysterious and complicated, so he kept this persona as it repelled people away. No misanthrope, The Man just didn’t have time for the folly of people, especially Australians.
“Who’d have fucking thought the inventor of Bitcoin was a bloody Australian,” he mumbled. A pet Koala, which he named Gavin, walked around the house. The phone rang. Yet again, the taxman.
He stood. He walked to the safe in his garage. He opened it. The password: 010309. The safe – which weighed 2100 pounds and was bolted into the concrete ground, contained but one piece of paper with a 50 letter phrase spelled out upon it. The ink was fading, but you could still make out the letters. The Man walked back to his office, past Gavin, where the computer screen glowed.
Feeling generous, he logged onto Bitcoinocracy.com and wrote a message: “I am Craig Wright.”
He pecked in the long passphrase. He pressed enter.
The Man poured himself a Penfolds Grange.
Featured image from BBC News.