cademia023
Honorary Poster
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S-A-N-T-A by reddit user u/granthinton
Brain remapping. Yeah, that’s a thing now. Where the hell have you been? It first started back in the naughtiest when some nerd developed this software that infiltrated your brain waves. He didn’t know the implications of his discovery. Virtual reality, VR gaming, it’s all the same. Your mind thinks it real so it makes it real. But only this is next-gen. Like, future tech.
If you have an addiction or undesirable habit that you want changed, because let’s face it, they’re both the same thing, Stems Artificial can fix it. All the celebrities are doing it. How else do you think those winter pounds fall off those women in the magazines? It’s like a short cut to the thrifty day challenge. You know, where you do something for thirty days and it becomes a new habit? Only this is an hour in and out kinda deal. It costs a pretty penny but people are lining up for it.
I was, unfortunately, given the opportunity. To say I was troubled would be to say I was broken. I was neither. What I was, was a little shit. There ain’t no way of glossing it over. My latest tirade at society got me a one-way ticket to Stem's courtesy of the magistrate. I was too young for prison and this was the next best thing then juvie. I think they hoped that Stems Artificial would change me. I changed alright.
They didn’t let me off easy. Once out of the courtroom, I was cuffed and escorted out. But, I did get a lovely chauffeur-driven ride in a roomy white van complete with padded walls and two orderly that could have won 1st and 2nd place at the Mr Universe pageant. The snow didn’t seem to halt our progress. I watched as we barreled passed the shops lit with Christmas decorations and festive cheer. My Christmas wasn’t looking so festive.
At Stems I was greeted at the door by Dr Nicholas. A slender man with bohemian blonde hair, a twiggy moustache to match and a rather embarrassing squint. He didn’t seem bothered by the fluttering eyelid, I, on the other hand, didn’t know where to look. He shook my hand as I glanced around the futuristic-looking building.
“Ah, Josh. We have been expecting you. I’ll take it from here, thank you.”
A Christmas song played softly from nonexistent speakers. I tried to determine where it came from but couldn’t.
Oh, I wish it could be Christmas every day…
The orderly grunted as Dr Nicholas signed the release form.
“I think you’ll like your brief stay here, Josh. This place is quite magical,” he said steering me passed a large array of hanging globes.
Hundreds of them hung from the towering ceiling on thin nylon strings. The shape of the glowing globes dawned on me, it was a Christmas tree. Each of the balls emitted a soft hue. Some were blue, others a pale yellow, while otters still were tinged magenta. He saw my jaw drop as I looked into one of the globes.
“Memories...of our patients. Good ones, I might add.”
“What do you do with the bad ones,” I asked, as I looked closer.
I watched a young girl swinging on a rope swing beneath an ancient tree. The meadows in the background were mottled and fuzzy but it still gave the illusion of a hot summer's day. Whoever’s memory this was they were intent on the strawberry-blonde haired girl on the swing. It was like nothing else mattered to the person. The more I watched the more I felt myself falling into the memory.
“Careful now,” Dr Nicholas pulled at my shoulder and I snapped back into the room.
“Whose are they?”
“We’ve had countless patients, Josh. Most times we are extracting bad memories that lead to an unhealthy life, however, there are some that can’t bear to remember the good times. Those are the ones making our tree.”
I still had so many questions about the tree as Dr Nicholas propelled me away toward the front desk. A lady in white clerical robes rose from the seat and handed the doctor a small plastic staple gun. On the end was an oblong strip of brushed metal.
“Hold still, this will sting a little.”
“What is it?” I felt the bite of electric in my neck, it shot through to my teeth.
“A tag, it will allow you to move through our building.” Dr Nicholas pulled down the collar of his shirt exposing a similar tag, only his had a strip of gold running across the top.
“Our building is controlled by a centralised computer. He runs the show, as they say.”
“He?” I raised an eyebrow in question. I know how this ends, I’ve seen the movies. The ‘AI’ finds humans destructive and calculates that the only chance for humanity's survival is to lead it in a bond of servitude. Well, **** no to that.
“We call him, Sir Arthur,” I noticed his lip curl slightly and his eyelid rapidly increased in its twitchiness.
“Don’t you think that’s dangerous? I mean, Skynet? Come on, man!”
The corridor behind melted away as we talked, in front, descending in an increasing curve was a polished walkway. It flattened out at the bottom into five concentric circles like a clover. At each leaf was a raised keypad.
“We are far more advanced than a 1980’s film, Josh. Believe me.”
I held my discomfort as he walked to one of the panels. Somewhere a mechanism whirled and a door slid open. Within was a scene I didn’t expect. Fields of green and sunflower yellow roamed as far as I could see. A bloated, overly large sun hung over the horizon and smash in the middle of my line of sight was a huge squat tree and a rope swing. I felt the warmth the sun gave off. Smelt the freshness of country air. And felt my cheeks stretch into a smile.
“Welcome to Stems Artificial, Josh. I told you you’d like it. Do you remember this place.”
I looked up into Dr Nicholas’s calm face. A slight smile parted his lips and the twitch vanished. Something about this scene called to me, but I couldn’t place where or why it caused me such longing. I delved into my memories but nothing came up. The feeling of remembrance was there, but the recollection wasn’t. It was, however, similar to the memory I saw in the Christmas tree.
“No,” I said bluntly, all happiness suddenly gone.
“Sir Arthur, our quantum computer, can predetermine memories from your consciousness that lead to traumatic stress. By removing them, it allows your neural pathways to connect without that life lesson from swaying your actions. Right now you’re in a place that Sir Arthur has found in your subconscious to be soothing.”
The scene evolved. Now showing a young girl sat on the swing. I moved toward her as if in a trance.
“What will it feel like?” I asked, suddenly scared of the procedure ahead. I walked around the girl but as I drew near her face the body twitched and switched around so it was her back again. The girl kicked her legs. So I slowly pushed her from behind.
“Some say like a dream, others...well, let’s not dwell on that. Sir Arthur?” Dr Nicholas walked out of the room. The doors slide closed. Sir Arthur’s voice sounded from all around.
“I’m here, Dr Nicholas.”
“Sir Arthur, Neurological Tissue Analyst, please.”
Suddenly the scene changed.
I was in my bedroom. Cold Stone Steven Austin’s face grinned at me from my bedspread. Numerous other wrestlers likewise challenged me from the wallpaper. I sat on the bed, I remembered the last time I was here. Before dad had died. Before life had changed. Before mum found comfort at the bottom of a bottle. Before...
“Not here,” before the words came out of my mouth the room’s colours bled out.
I was up a tree, the chainsaw in my hand was biting through a branch. This wasn’t my memory. I had never wielded a chainsaw. With an audible *****, the tree beneath me snapped. I came down hard. The safety line caught me but the chainsaw fell free. Pain and adrenaline pumped through my body as the chainsaw swung into my arm. Blood sprayed my face. I screamed within the memory.
The scene changed again. I had two arms again. Slender and pale, rings on multiple fingers. In one hand a bottle of bleach twitched slightly as it carefully poured onto a teaspoon. A child played next to a TV set. Peppa pig’s annoying squabble penetrating from the speakers. I felt the hatred for the thing that I had birthed. It had stolen from me. Ruined my life with its leeching ways.
“Ready dear,” I hear myself say.
The child came forward. Even though he had a bounce in his step I could see that his skin was blotchy and tinged with green. He coughed and sat at the table. My hands pushed the bowl of porridge across for him and he began to scoop it into his mouth.
In a myriad of snapshots, I lived moments from other people’s lives. I know deep down that they weren't my memories, but the more I experienced them the more my identity blended.
I sat at a table in a gloomy club. A girl danced on stage. Each gyration enlisted a groan from other men. I sneered. How dare she flaunt her *****ness to the world. I didn’t know her personally. It was the first time I had seen this particular girl. I waited until she had finished her shift and then followed her out into the alleyway. If she wanted to act like a slut I would treat her like one. Rain fell hard. The cold drops ran down my neck and back. She skipped to a car. I ran.
I hit her hard from behind. She fell. Nothing but anger built in me. I detested her. For everything, she stood for. It was time she knew what she was. A slut. I ripped off her clothes intent on using her as I saw fit. If she wanted to show the world her bits then she would die as she came into the world.
The scene changed.
Hands came up to my face. Shaking with wetness. I was in a bathroom. Crouched over a bathtub. I looked into the mirror over the vanity. My hair was brown and long, blue eyes red from crying looked back over feminine features. Dread, terror and shame numbed me. I looked back down at my wet hand and then at the baby submerged in the bathtub. Tears spilt down my face.
Suddenly wind whipped about my face cooling those tears. A moment of vertigo assaulted me. I was now perched like an eagle on the edge of a building The town spread out underneath me like a miniature world. I had found solitude here...once. Up above the world, closest to God. People were too busy looking down at their phones to wander what was above them. Too busy caring about being popular to care about the boy perched at the edge.
A noose, tighter than a tie, hung around my neck. I had, or rather whoever's memory this was, had chosen this place for its solitude. They jumped. I jumped. The noose tightened further. Panic peppered me. I couldn’t breathe. Completely cut off from oxygen. I felt the blood building in my head. I scrambled for the rope knowing that my decision was wrong. I wanted to live. Cars buzzed by below. The world was oblivious to my plight. I heard shouts. Desperately I tried to shout but nothing but gurgles came out.
I slammed my bulging eyes closed. And the pressure vanished.
“You ****ing bitch?!” Screamed the man before me. Rage flew from his lips in droplets of spittle. He, my husband, grabbed my throat and pushed me hard against the wall. He hit me. Pain exploded in my face. And again. And again. Until I was on the brink of passing out. Horrified at how he could treat me this way and what I had done do to deserve it rattled my mind. I was lost. He loved me and I loved him. Why now did he do this. My eyes closed as blood seeped into them.
I lived a hundred, thousands of memories. I gasped. The room was stale white. My mind reeled from the memories. I barely knew I was Josh. Instead, my mind was jelly made from hundreds of other people. My heart raced. My eyes stung from the tears. I noticed the door for the first time.
Dr Nicholas watched me from the window within. His twitch was now nonexistent. His eyes gleamed with interested instead. His mouth moved but I heard no words. And then the scene changed again.
It was Christmas Day. I perched over a large box wrapped in robot wrapping paper. My Mum, my real mum, sat off to the right. Hands clenched together in anticipation, her grin was infectious and I felt my face contour like hers with elation. A knock sounded at the door. My father shot up. I wondered who would be calling so early on Christmas morning. The door opened and women forced her way inside, a small child on her hip.
My mum's face dropped. Through the screaming and shouting, I learnt that my father had another family. Another wife, another child. A daughter. My sister.
I rammed my eyes shut. This wasn’t a memory I remembered. It played as it belonged to someone else. But I knew it was mine. One that was so deeply buried that I scarcely believe it. Myra. That was her name.
Tears spilt down my face. It had been my fault. The scene changed again. Stem Artificial flashed before me. Dr Nicholas greeted me. My hand wandered to my neck. Pain flared. The corridor. The clover. The room. I had been here before.
Suddenly the room went black. I gasped. Had I died? Had Stem’s lost control and now I sat in the deepest recesses of my mind. Scared I wrapped my arms around myself. A pinprick of white opened before me like a tunnel in the darkness. It grew steadily bigger. My eyes watching it as if it was the only thing that mattered. Before I knew it I was blinking back the whiteness of the room. A man stood by my side.
“And we’re done. How do you feel?”
Dr Nicholas’s twitch returned with renewed vigour.
“I-I-I” I mumbled, rubbing at my neck. I felt the band at the side. Sharp and smooth at the same time. Words formed in my head, but the cognitive response of vocal muscles couldn’t replicate what I wanted to say. I felt vaguely empty. As if I hadn’t eaten for days but didn’t feel hungry. I wanted to tell him everything. How I saw the arm that wasn’t there or the arm that was they but shouldn’t be. About the baby, about the people I killed, about the animals, I hurt for gratification.
“Would you like to see what happens to what we’ve taken away?” He said with a smile.
Numbly, I nodded. A thousand minds in an empty shell.
We left the room and glided towards another of the door in the leaves of the clover room. The door opened to a mass of grey walls and millions of blinking lights. Tracks ran the length of hundreds of isle. All linked like one continuing train line. From off to the right a machine swirled towards us. The short square machine held a glowing globe in its two-pronged hands. I would have laughed at the Santa hat it wore over its robotic head in better days. I didn’t know if it was me who found it funny or someone else.
“This is part of Sir Arthur. It’s the...robotification of himself if you like. That, in his hand, is yours,” Dr Nicholas pointed toward the globe.
“M-m-mine,” I mumbled.
We followed the Santa robot down rows of walls, thousands of globes running in neat lines and columns on either side of us. Until the robot stopped. The arm whirled out and delicately placed the globe in a hole in the wall amidst its brothers. Underneath, etched into the surface of the wall, was my name and the date.
JOSH NOEL IRVING - 14 DECEMBER 2013.
The machine bulked. Its fingers twitching more than Dr Nicholas’s eye. From somewhere far off a drone vibrated. The machine flinched. A projection from the robot showed the taken memory. The Christmas scene played out again. Once I could scarcely remember. The robot wrapping paper. A happy mother. The knock. The lady. The little girl sat on the women’s hip. As more played out, I was certain it wasn’t one of mine.
“Unfortunately we only see the memories like a movie,” he said, his head tilted to one side. “The thoughts or feeling imbued into them aren’t transferable. But, one day I hope to change that.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But I couldn’t wipe the blood off my hands. Frantically I tried but every time they came clean from my shirt they reverted to bloodied. I wanted to tell him that I lived them all. Each sordid deed. Felt the pain of them. The struggle. The vile feelings of terror and dread and...pleasure.
Tears spilt down my face. Snort blended with them in riveters of remorse. So much pain. So much anger. I pulled at my hair. Racked my face with my fingernails.
“That’s enough I think.” Dr Nicholas guided me back out and up the swirling walkway. Passed the lobby and the Christmas tree of memories. We stopped briefly while he spoke to someone.
“Prep a room please, Margo. I think I’ve broken another one.”
“Any relatives?”
“No, this one won’t be missed.” He said, patting my shoulder. My eyes wandered to the tree.
I didn’t know who he spoke about. I didn’t care. I had found another memory that pulled at me. A globe on the tree. One with lush fields of green and yellow. The view swung up and down as if someone was on a swing. Fields and sky, field and sky. A boy pushed the person, an infectious grin splitting his lips. I felt mine rise to match. Suddenly his face fell. A hand swung into view. It clawed around to grab the person whose memory it was. The boy stretched out his hand but the view moved further back until the memory stopped.
Source:
Brain remapping. Yeah, that’s a thing now. Where the hell have you been? It first started back in the naughtiest when some nerd developed this software that infiltrated your brain waves. He didn’t know the implications of his discovery. Virtual reality, VR gaming, it’s all the same. Your mind thinks it real so it makes it real. But only this is next-gen. Like, future tech.
If you have an addiction or undesirable habit that you want changed, because let’s face it, they’re both the same thing, Stems Artificial can fix it. All the celebrities are doing it. How else do you think those winter pounds fall off those women in the magazines? It’s like a short cut to the thrifty day challenge. You know, where you do something for thirty days and it becomes a new habit? Only this is an hour in and out kinda deal. It costs a pretty penny but people are lining up for it.
I was, unfortunately, given the opportunity. To say I was troubled would be to say I was broken. I was neither. What I was, was a little shit. There ain’t no way of glossing it over. My latest tirade at society got me a one-way ticket to Stem's courtesy of the magistrate. I was too young for prison and this was the next best thing then juvie. I think they hoped that Stems Artificial would change me. I changed alright.
They didn’t let me off easy. Once out of the courtroom, I was cuffed and escorted out. But, I did get a lovely chauffeur-driven ride in a roomy white van complete with padded walls and two orderly that could have won 1st and 2nd place at the Mr Universe pageant. The snow didn’t seem to halt our progress. I watched as we barreled passed the shops lit with Christmas decorations and festive cheer. My Christmas wasn’t looking so festive.
At Stems I was greeted at the door by Dr Nicholas. A slender man with bohemian blonde hair, a twiggy moustache to match and a rather embarrassing squint. He didn’t seem bothered by the fluttering eyelid, I, on the other hand, didn’t know where to look. He shook my hand as I glanced around the futuristic-looking building.
“Ah, Josh. We have been expecting you. I’ll take it from here, thank you.”
A Christmas song played softly from nonexistent speakers. I tried to determine where it came from but couldn’t.
Oh, I wish it could be Christmas every day…
The orderly grunted as Dr Nicholas signed the release form.
“I think you’ll like your brief stay here, Josh. This place is quite magical,” he said steering me passed a large array of hanging globes.
Hundreds of them hung from the towering ceiling on thin nylon strings. The shape of the glowing globes dawned on me, it was a Christmas tree. Each of the balls emitted a soft hue. Some were blue, others a pale yellow, while otters still were tinged magenta. He saw my jaw drop as I looked into one of the globes.
“Memories...of our patients. Good ones, I might add.”
“What do you do with the bad ones,” I asked, as I looked closer.
I watched a young girl swinging on a rope swing beneath an ancient tree. The meadows in the background were mottled and fuzzy but it still gave the illusion of a hot summer's day. Whoever’s memory this was they were intent on the strawberry-blonde haired girl on the swing. It was like nothing else mattered to the person. The more I watched the more I felt myself falling into the memory.
“Careful now,” Dr Nicholas pulled at my shoulder and I snapped back into the room.
“Whose are they?”
“We’ve had countless patients, Josh. Most times we are extracting bad memories that lead to an unhealthy life, however, there are some that can’t bear to remember the good times. Those are the ones making our tree.”
I still had so many questions about the tree as Dr Nicholas propelled me away toward the front desk. A lady in white clerical robes rose from the seat and handed the doctor a small plastic staple gun. On the end was an oblong strip of brushed metal.
“Hold still, this will sting a little.”
“What is it?” I felt the bite of electric in my neck, it shot through to my teeth.
“A tag, it will allow you to move through our building.” Dr Nicholas pulled down the collar of his shirt exposing a similar tag, only his had a strip of gold running across the top.
“Our building is controlled by a centralised computer. He runs the show, as they say.”
“He?” I raised an eyebrow in question. I know how this ends, I’ve seen the movies. The ‘AI’ finds humans destructive and calculates that the only chance for humanity's survival is to lead it in a bond of servitude. Well, **** no to that.
“We call him, Sir Arthur,” I noticed his lip curl slightly and his eyelid rapidly increased in its twitchiness.
“Don’t you think that’s dangerous? I mean, Skynet? Come on, man!”
The corridor behind melted away as we talked, in front, descending in an increasing curve was a polished walkway. It flattened out at the bottom into five concentric circles like a clover. At each leaf was a raised keypad.
“We are far more advanced than a 1980’s film, Josh. Believe me.”
I held my discomfort as he walked to one of the panels. Somewhere a mechanism whirled and a door slid open. Within was a scene I didn’t expect. Fields of green and sunflower yellow roamed as far as I could see. A bloated, overly large sun hung over the horizon and smash in the middle of my line of sight was a huge squat tree and a rope swing. I felt the warmth the sun gave off. Smelt the freshness of country air. And felt my cheeks stretch into a smile.
“Welcome to Stems Artificial, Josh. I told you you’d like it. Do you remember this place.”
I looked up into Dr Nicholas’s calm face. A slight smile parted his lips and the twitch vanished. Something about this scene called to me, but I couldn’t place where or why it caused me such longing. I delved into my memories but nothing came up. The feeling of remembrance was there, but the recollection wasn’t. It was, however, similar to the memory I saw in the Christmas tree.
“No,” I said bluntly, all happiness suddenly gone.
“Sir Arthur, our quantum computer, can predetermine memories from your consciousness that lead to traumatic stress. By removing them, it allows your neural pathways to connect without that life lesson from swaying your actions. Right now you’re in a place that Sir Arthur has found in your subconscious to be soothing.”
The scene evolved. Now showing a young girl sat on the swing. I moved toward her as if in a trance.
“What will it feel like?” I asked, suddenly scared of the procedure ahead. I walked around the girl but as I drew near her face the body twitched and switched around so it was her back again. The girl kicked her legs. So I slowly pushed her from behind.
“Some say like a dream, others...well, let’s not dwell on that. Sir Arthur?” Dr Nicholas walked out of the room. The doors slide closed. Sir Arthur’s voice sounded from all around.
“I’m here, Dr Nicholas.”
“Sir Arthur, Neurological Tissue Analyst, please.”
Suddenly the scene changed.
I was in my bedroom. Cold Stone Steven Austin’s face grinned at me from my bedspread. Numerous other wrestlers likewise challenged me from the wallpaper. I sat on the bed, I remembered the last time I was here. Before dad had died. Before life had changed. Before mum found comfort at the bottom of a bottle. Before...
“Not here,” before the words came out of my mouth the room’s colours bled out.
I was up a tree, the chainsaw in my hand was biting through a branch. This wasn’t my memory. I had never wielded a chainsaw. With an audible *****, the tree beneath me snapped. I came down hard. The safety line caught me but the chainsaw fell free. Pain and adrenaline pumped through my body as the chainsaw swung into my arm. Blood sprayed my face. I screamed within the memory.
The scene changed again. I had two arms again. Slender and pale, rings on multiple fingers. In one hand a bottle of bleach twitched slightly as it carefully poured onto a teaspoon. A child played next to a TV set. Peppa pig’s annoying squabble penetrating from the speakers. I felt the hatred for the thing that I had birthed. It had stolen from me. Ruined my life with its leeching ways.
“Ready dear,” I hear myself say.
The child came forward. Even though he had a bounce in his step I could see that his skin was blotchy and tinged with green. He coughed and sat at the table. My hands pushed the bowl of porridge across for him and he began to scoop it into his mouth.
In a myriad of snapshots, I lived moments from other people’s lives. I know deep down that they weren't my memories, but the more I experienced them the more my identity blended.
I sat at a table in a gloomy club. A girl danced on stage. Each gyration enlisted a groan from other men. I sneered. How dare she flaunt her *****ness to the world. I didn’t know her personally. It was the first time I had seen this particular girl. I waited until she had finished her shift and then followed her out into the alleyway. If she wanted to act like a slut I would treat her like one. Rain fell hard. The cold drops ran down my neck and back. She skipped to a car. I ran.
I hit her hard from behind. She fell. Nothing but anger built in me. I detested her. For everything, she stood for. It was time she knew what she was. A slut. I ripped off her clothes intent on using her as I saw fit. If she wanted to show the world her bits then she would die as she came into the world.
The scene changed.
Hands came up to my face. Shaking with wetness. I was in a bathroom. Crouched over a bathtub. I looked into the mirror over the vanity. My hair was brown and long, blue eyes red from crying looked back over feminine features. Dread, terror and shame numbed me. I looked back down at my wet hand and then at the baby submerged in the bathtub. Tears spilt down my face.
Suddenly wind whipped about my face cooling those tears. A moment of vertigo assaulted me. I was now perched like an eagle on the edge of a building The town spread out underneath me like a miniature world. I had found solitude here...once. Up above the world, closest to God. People were too busy looking down at their phones to wander what was above them. Too busy caring about being popular to care about the boy perched at the edge.
A noose, tighter than a tie, hung around my neck. I had, or rather whoever's memory this was, had chosen this place for its solitude. They jumped. I jumped. The noose tightened further. Panic peppered me. I couldn’t breathe. Completely cut off from oxygen. I felt the blood building in my head. I scrambled for the rope knowing that my decision was wrong. I wanted to live. Cars buzzed by below. The world was oblivious to my plight. I heard shouts. Desperately I tried to shout but nothing but gurgles came out.
I slammed my bulging eyes closed. And the pressure vanished.
“You ****ing bitch?!” Screamed the man before me. Rage flew from his lips in droplets of spittle. He, my husband, grabbed my throat and pushed me hard against the wall. He hit me. Pain exploded in my face. And again. And again. Until I was on the brink of passing out. Horrified at how he could treat me this way and what I had done do to deserve it rattled my mind. I was lost. He loved me and I loved him. Why now did he do this. My eyes closed as blood seeped into them.
I lived a hundred, thousands of memories. I gasped. The room was stale white. My mind reeled from the memories. I barely knew I was Josh. Instead, my mind was jelly made from hundreds of other people. My heart raced. My eyes stung from the tears. I noticed the door for the first time.
Dr Nicholas watched me from the window within. His twitch was now nonexistent. His eyes gleamed with interested instead. His mouth moved but I heard no words. And then the scene changed again.
It was Christmas Day. I perched over a large box wrapped in robot wrapping paper. My Mum, my real mum, sat off to the right. Hands clenched together in anticipation, her grin was infectious and I felt my face contour like hers with elation. A knock sounded at the door. My father shot up. I wondered who would be calling so early on Christmas morning. The door opened and women forced her way inside, a small child on her hip.
My mum's face dropped. Through the screaming and shouting, I learnt that my father had another family. Another wife, another child. A daughter. My sister.
I rammed my eyes shut. This wasn’t a memory I remembered. It played as it belonged to someone else. But I knew it was mine. One that was so deeply buried that I scarcely believe it. Myra. That was her name.
Tears spilt down my face. It had been my fault. The scene changed again. Stem Artificial flashed before me. Dr Nicholas greeted me. My hand wandered to my neck. Pain flared. The corridor. The clover. The room. I had been here before.
Suddenly the room went black. I gasped. Had I died? Had Stem’s lost control and now I sat in the deepest recesses of my mind. Scared I wrapped my arms around myself. A pinprick of white opened before me like a tunnel in the darkness. It grew steadily bigger. My eyes watching it as if it was the only thing that mattered. Before I knew it I was blinking back the whiteness of the room. A man stood by my side.
“And we’re done. How do you feel?”
Dr Nicholas’s twitch returned with renewed vigour.
“I-I-I” I mumbled, rubbing at my neck. I felt the band at the side. Sharp and smooth at the same time. Words formed in my head, but the cognitive response of vocal muscles couldn’t replicate what I wanted to say. I felt vaguely empty. As if I hadn’t eaten for days but didn’t feel hungry. I wanted to tell him everything. How I saw the arm that wasn’t there or the arm that was they but shouldn’t be. About the baby, about the people I killed, about the animals, I hurt for gratification.
“Would you like to see what happens to what we’ve taken away?” He said with a smile.
Numbly, I nodded. A thousand minds in an empty shell.
We left the room and glided towards another of the door in the leaves of the clover room. The door opened to a mass of grey walls and millions of blinking lights. Tracks ran the length of hundreds of isle. All linked like one continuing train line. From off to the right a machine swirled towards us. The short square machine held a glowing globe in its two-pronged hands. I would have laughed at the Santa hat it wore over its robotic head in better days. I didn’t know if it was me who found it funny or someone else.
“This is part of Sir Arthur. It’s the...robotification of himself if you like. That, in his hand, is yours,” Dr Nicholas pointed toward the globe.
“M-m-mine,” I mumbled.
We followed the Santa robot down rows of walls, thousands of globes running in neat lines and columns on either side of us. Until the robot stopped. The arm whirled out and delicately placed the globe in a hole in the wall amidst its brothers. Underneath, etched into the surface of the wall, was my name and the date.
JOSH NOEL IRVING - 14 DECEMBER 2013.
The machine bulked. Its fingers twitching more than Dr Nicholas’s eye. From somewhere far off a drone vibrated. The machine flinched. A projection from the robot showed the taken memory. The Christmas scene played out again. Once I could scarcely remember. The robot wrapping paper. A happy mother. The knock. The lady. The little girl sat on the women’s hip. As more played out, I was certain it wasn’t one of mine.
“Unfortunately we only see the memories like a movie,” he said, his head tilted to one side. “The thoughts or feeling imbued into them aren’t transferable. But, one day I hope to change that.”
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. But I couldn’t wipe the blood off my hands. Frantically I tried but every time they came clean from my shirt they reverted to bloodied. I wanted to tell him that I lived them all. Each sordid deed. Felt the pain of them. The struggle. The vile feelings of terror and dread and...pleasure.
Tears spilt down my face. Snort blended with them in riveters of remorse. So much pain. So much anger. I pulled at my hair. Racked my face with my fingernails.
“That’s enough I think.” Dr Nicholas guided me back out and up the swirling walkway. Passed the lobby and the Christmas tree of memories. We stopped briefly while he spoke to someone.
“Prep a room please, Margo. I think I’ve broken another one.”
“Any relatives?”
“No, this one won’t be missed.” He said, patting my shoulder. My eyes wandered to the tree.
I didn’t know who he spoke about. I didn’t care. I had found another memory that pulled at me. A globe on the tree. One with lush fields of green and yellow. The view swung up and down as if someone was on a swing. Fields and sky, field and sky. A boy pushed the person, an infectious grin splitting his lips. I felt mine rise to match. Suddenly his face fell. A hand swung into view. It clawed around to grab the person whose memory it was. The boy stretched out his hand but the view moved further back until the memory stopped.
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