Thank you for all of you who submitted entries this last week. cassandracarolina chose the following entry by WiseFerret:
Sensors
The doctors said I would see again. They lied. Again.
In a technical sense, yes. Objects and spaces are translated into numeric spatial geometrics. My brain learns to translate this into images from my memory. I am often wrong. So much has changed from what I can recapture from my memory bank.
"No gramma! That's a Kisel block," little Ariannal corrects me, "What is a footstool?"
I don't inquire about Kisel and she doesn't pursue 'footstool'.
"Hi gramma," Murian greets me. This time the shape is appropriately humanoid, female. Her expression looks guardedly excited. Facial analysis program. It works well on adults. The kids know how to fool it. Since the program dismisses goblins, ogres, fairies and elves, I don't see imagination run wild.
"Hello Murian," I return before she can dissolve in anxiety.
"The upgrade for your visuals are here! I'm going to plug it in. It says it will take three hours to upload and install, but we are going out to dinner anyway. You should be able to see colors! Toliver sent me flowers and I will put them so they will be the first thing you see!"
I don't get a chance to refuse. She doesn't hear when I tell her anyway.
There is no more input. All circuits are busy.
Only myself. My last vestiges of flesh and blood. A patch of deep blue sky as the sun hides behind cedar and pine. Rain rippling across a lake. It was important- my memories tell me, but I can't remember why I should cry. A sea of joyful faces, my mother, crying and smiling. I look down to the colorful bouquet, feel the love in my heart well up as my eye trails the crisp black suit worn uncomfortably-
And the memory is cut before I can see his face again.
I look down on the face of the infant. Which child? The one lost too soon? The one who could not let go? Faces blend and their names are lost.
Organic bits are lost in every transition. Every upgrade.
Oh, it's all saved in the memory bank. Numbers. Electrical on and off signals. They don't understand how it is not the same. It can be disconnected. Parted out. A book on a shelf you can avoid. Remove all the bad, the sad. It is no longer mine. Just inputs.
Inputs resume. Spatial geometrics now include wavelengths of photons reaching the sensors. Just more input to sort through.
Of course Murian was excited. Inputs come from nearly the full spectrum of wavelengths, not just the human visual range. Infrared and ultra-violet. The novelty of the bouquet of flowers lasts several minutes. She will be thrilled when she reads my automatic log.
My children. My children's children. Several generations. They mean well. They do care. But they don't understand. Replacing senses with sensors is not the same. I am only me when disconnected. And that is falling apart. Fading.
I do not have to answer. I could fall silent and unyielding. They would assume a mechanical failure. The doctors would examine, prod and poke and finally say I am gone. I can be invisible witness as they mourn. Have a little ceremony to finally pull the plug.
I finally see what is next. See his face again, in his tuxedo, squirming and sweating with nerves.
"Gramma, look!" cries Ariannal. Sensors tell me she is running into the room with a toy nearly as big as she it.
"Look what I won!" She dances with impatient excitement and joy.
I have to look.
Interesting take and twist on the exercise.
We also garnered interesting entries from Mortifyd, who captured a great moment in time, Dragon5616, with a lovely evocation of wonder, and terrypinder, who glides into a stream of memories. Good work, folks.
This week WiseFerret has chosen the following five words:
Crepuscular
Opaque
Filth
Tang
Penetrating
Using any style, genre, and at any length, write something that incorporates all five of these words.
Have fun. The deadline for submissions, from which one will be chosen to be highlighted by WiseFerret, is Sunday at midnight.
Tue Jul 12, 2011 at 5:22 AM PT: Sorry about the snafu. Five words are now up.