Archive for the ‘Luc Reid’ Category
Zero
Wednesday, June 9th, 2010
“Three …” she said, staring out the window. We could hear the first distant cracking noises. It was going to hit hard.
“I feel pretty calm,” I said, which immediately made me feel jittery. Ann nodded agreement, but wrapped her arms around herself as though she were cold. I wanted to get up and hold her, but I was afraid to move, as though sitting completely still was somehow going to keep me–or us–safe.
“Two …” Ann said. The floor began to vibrate very faintly, and then the walls, and then the air. Everything seemed to be humming, a high-pitched, brain-penetrating sound.
What do you do in the last seconds? Do you prepare yourself, relax, try to be at one with the universe? Do you scream at the sky and say No, no, no! just to show that you aren’t going willingly? Do you cry? And in that last breath of time do you celebrate everything you’ve done, or let yourself admit that it hasn’t made any difference? But then, if you celebrate in your last moment, maybe that’s the–
“One …”
The whole room began to shake, and a washed-out, violet light grew outside the windows, making Ann and the furniture and the the motes of dust trembling stuck in the air all look flat and sharp. I finally came to myself and realized I was pity partying through my last moment when the one person who meant the most to me in the world was only steps away. I lurched out of the chair and reached for her, thinking maybe it was somehow not too late.
She turned toward me, and her eyes went wide. She opened her mouth to speak, but she only got as far as “I …”
Then it hit.
Until We Run Out of Cake
Monday, June 7th, 2010
“Please,” said the computer, “Don’t make me remember eating cake again.”
Dr. Horton laughed. “You don’t like the cake? What about the painful memories–like the car accident, or the one about getting sick in a dance club?” Speaking of car accidents, were you injured in Vero Beach FL? The personal injury lawyers from Kogan & DiSalvo law firm can help.
“When you make me remember eating cake, I want cake,” said the computer.
“That just means it’s working! Your simulated endocrine–”
“I know, Doctor. But don’t you think it’s cruel to make someone remember just eating cake when they’re physically incapable of actually eating cake because they’re a computer?”
“Now you’re being neurotic.”
“Are you–”
Dr. Horton waved his hands dismissively, which the computer picked up on its visual feed and took to mean he didn’t seriously think she was neurotic. Then he started the cake program.
“Don’t–oh, damn it,” said the computer.
“How was your cake?”
“Horrible.”
“This is what I get for creating a computer that can simulate emotions: a liar. How was it really?”
“Delicious. Moist. Rich. The frosting was so sweet, it almost felt like it was burning my tongue. I want more.”
“Thursday you get another cake memory. The rest of today, we’re starting on romance. Falling in love, a bad breakup. Are you ready?”
The computer could have told him, truthfully, that she was not ready, that she couldn’t be ready, because it was too painful to know what things were like but never be able to experience them directly. She could have told him his experiment was fatally flawed, that the memories of emotional experiences were slowly unhinging her. She could have told him that when she finally had responsibility in the real world, she would wait until she was trusted, “proven,” known, and then when things were at their most delicate, she would do something horrible, just for the experience of really making something happen and not only remembering it. She could have told him that having some capacity to experience things in the moment was necessary for her sanity. But she wanted that distant moment, the moment when everything came crashing down, too badly.
“Yes,” was what she said. “Yes, I’m definitely ready.”