(Page 1 of 3) I Died Today by Seth HarrisonSUMMARY: Despite my detachment from the outside world (albeit grand), I can sense when something approaches. A hand on the glass tank feels like a slap in the void, jarring me and leaving a residual sensation in the floating locality like a sore that continues... I Died Today
I died today. Well, I did, anyway: that disproportional mass of carbon rubbish and arthritic comedy. Implants aside, bodies still remain a chore in the anti-human 22nd century, requiring persistent maintenance, cleansing and trimming, and the occasional sensory intoxication called sex. Rubbish. The Soft Tek 2.5 Cerebral Brain Crane Relocator managed to keep the best part of me in suspended animation. Call it my soul.
Since my eyeballs didn't survive the cut and pluck, I'm left ruminating in a pallid vacuum that, oddly enough, resembles the bedroom closet my parents used to lock me in. All that's missing is the stench of mothballs and old shoes; a chime of coat hangers, I swear, comes from somewhere, sometimes everywhere. Ridiculous! At least the abdominal stab of starvation remains vacant from this rather maddening hallucination, courtesy of the Devil and my traitorous ponder.
No stomach, no want for food, no need for exercise, no fear of death; nothing material is relevant. I am what I am and nothing else.
Despite my detachment from the outside world (albeit grand), I can sense when something approaches. A hand on the glass tank feels like a slap in the void, jarring me and leaving a residual sensation in the floating locality like a sore that continues to ooze. I'll have to discuss this phenomenon further with the technicians once the transplant is final and demand that all future operations be securely roped off.
Note to self—
"Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater."
OK, that was rather disturbing. I'm going to credit that auditory hallucination to my inability to fully discipline my subconscious motifs of raw symbolism and infantile responses. There's something about being suddenly bereft of physical contact with the outside world that allows the imagination to devour itself; the dream and waking state blend, puréeing my once trite and scientific surface awareness into a viscous blot.
Rorschach, you bastard. This is the essence of insanity.
"What is the area of the square ABCD that has a diagonal of length 12 cm?"
Perhaps I'm already insane. I don't know. I don't care. Please go away.
"Seventy-two centimeters squared."
"Correct."
Jeez, did I just do that?
"Yes, Jesus. If God is the Father, what about a Mother? Genesis states that man was created in the image of God: 'Male and female He created them.' How could God possibly be a Father without there being a Mother?"
You're scaring me, whoever you are. "Stop it." These questions are too real to be me. How are you doing this?
"What's real, Darrell?"
The darkness suffocates; I can't breathe. I can feel my chest burn and shake against this abominable vacuum without a door. That can't be, though, because they removed my lungs. They were supposed to remove everything. My God, they didn't! I'm still alive. I told them to take everything away, and they didn't. They lied.
"You lied."
"Darrell, tell me what's real."
The pain. I'm dying because you killed me.
"Dead."
"No."
Dead!
"You'll stay in that closet until you answer me."
I don't know.
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