mirage. dazed. untethered. forgotten.

you have bewitched me and you don’t even know. you are at the end of every breath i take. a walking mystery i cannot solve. but i must let you go. you are so aloof and distant. maybe you are not what i conjured you up to be. i do not know who i love more: the idea of you or the reality. guess i will never know. x

ART by SANDY LUU

WORDS by AARYAMAN ANAND

“Richard Silas Elliott, 30 year old male,” the monotone voice rattles.

“HR 75 BPM, BP 110/70...”

Richard zones out as the doctor rattles off his annual checkup results. He wonders if it perceives anything beyond their algorithms; whether it really knows it’s simply a machine amalgamating the knowledge its human counterpart once used to possess. That’s what Michael says, anyway. Richard has never known a world like that.

“...genetic testing results...”

The machine detects a slight uptick in Richard’s blood pressure and orders him to relax. This is what he’s always feared.

“ ... no deleterious mutations detected. The test is complete. Have a good day, Richard.”

Richard breathes a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

Michael paces back and forth in the hallway. “No concerns?”

“Everything’s good, Michael,” he responds. “Let’s go see Dad?”

“Sure. Don’t forget to share your results with him, even if he’s not responsive. They’ve been trying to reconfigure the signaling in the older brains, since they were preserved so long ago. He’s pumped full of neurotransmitters, but they haven’t figured out how to replicate his original patterns completely. I’m meeting with the board to discuss it.”

“Okay.”

Michael sighs. “I’m so glad your results came back clear, son. I—” Richard cuts him off. “Michael. I know.”

Michael nods, and turns his attention to configuring the car’s GPS. They sit back silently as the car accelerates to precisely the speed limit on the road: 60 km/h, leaving the icy, gleaming hospital far behind.

“Don’t forget the golden rule!” Michael exclaims.

“I won’t,” Richard calls back. He repeats under his breath, Don’t tell him he’s in the cloud. He’s confused. He’s an old man, living in a solitary nursing home, sleeping for days on end.

The building is unapologetically bright, with large, tangled displays of neural networks slithering across every inch of available space. A woman sits at the counter to provide an “authentic reception experience”, but the vacancy in her eyes clues Richard in. She’s a humanoid.

“You’re here to see Silas Elliott?” she prompts, after she’s verified his identity. “Lovely. 9th floor, block 11, display 5a—”

Display. As if he’s an inanimate object, he thinks. “I’m familiar with it, thanks.”

Her monologue abruptly stops, and her eyes begin to roll back in their sockets.

The “farewell” procedure. Richard would know—he’d developed it.

“Have a nice day, Richard!” she calls, her hollow voice reverberating through the empty corridor.

In the dark room, Richard undergoes the full-body identification scan. His own details pop up on the screen, asking, Do you authorize sharing of personal data to update memory of Silas Elliott, relationship status: father? He hovers over Yes. Click.

The computer whirs. He braces himself as the android—frozen at 30 years and 364 days—roars to life. Exactly the way he looked as they injected the chemicals into his brain to preserve its synapses; killing him instantly, yet keeping him alive.

“Hi, Dad,” Richard whispers gently. “Sorry I haven’t been coming by... work’s been pretty busy.”

“That’s alright, son,” Silas responds after a delay, and Richard can almost hear the warmth in the voice he doesn’t remember. “I’m glad you’re here. Still haven’t forgotten the old man, huh?”

He chuckles. “Of course not.”

A long, heavy pause ensues, as Richard mulls over what to say next. But it’s his father who breaks the silence. “Why today, Richard?”

“What do you mean?”

“The nurse told me it’s your 30th birthday.” Well, no, I told your computer program that. “So you had your genetic testing?” Yes. “What was the result?”

Richard hesitates. “It was...normal. No harmful variants detected.”

The machine sighs. “Good.”

“Yeah, I was relieved too.”

Another pause.

“So how’s work, son?”

“It’s fine. We’re designing some new humanoids. They’re experimenting with memory implants, to see if, uh, you know...they can respond emotionally.”

Silas’ avatar nods. “Soon they’ll be hard to distinguish from us humans, huh?”

Richard gulps. “Yeah...I guess so. I’m not very confident that it’ll work, though.”

“Why not?”

Richard shrugs. “I don’t know... there’s something about being human that technology just can’t capture, right?” As the words leave his mouth, he grimaces—the irony of saying these words to a machine isn’t lost on him. “But I guess we never know,” he adds, lamely. The silence is palpable.

“You know I know, right?”

Richard is startled. “What?”

“Come on, son. I’m dead, aren’t I? This isn’t real.”

Richard gasps. He stares at the android, trying to find the face of the man who isn’t there.

“I want to hear you say it. I’m dead, right?”

Richard feels like he’s in a daze. “You knew?”

“Of course I knew. I worked on this bloody project with Michael. I said I didn’t want to be uploaded to the cloud, and the bastard went ahead and did it anyway.”

“Dad, I—”

“Listen to me, Richard. I hung on all these years to make sure you’d be okay, and you are. I think it’s time to put an end to this.”

Somehow, it feels wrong. This is all he’s ever known of his father. Should he really be doing this?

“I...I don’t know, Dad. I can’t. I’m sorry. I love you.”

Silas smiles. “It’s alright, son. I love you, too.”

Before Richard can react, Silas’ glass eyes start to roll back in his head. The farewell procedure. The alarm blares as Silas’ connectome goes dark. Alert. Alert. System failure in Block 11, Display 5a. Alert. Alert. The humanoids start to arrive in droves, their portable body scanners bathing Richard in a sea of red light. “Failure to verify guardian. Failure to verify guardian. Failure to verify guardian.” x

ART by EMMANUEL ADUWARI

To be human is to document. When recalling memories we tend to have flashes or glitch like imagery of what we felt and saw. Modern day technology has allowed us to capture moments visually, but nothing compares to capturing feelings; and journalling is a great example of that. My photos app is unable to really embody and give the emotions I once the descriptions they lack!

I journal by including tangible and intangible evidence of my day. This includes receipts, stickers, pictures. This also includes excerpts from texts, songs, funny conversations. The small things we wouldn’t really remember. The big things we forget to reflect on. The way my handwriting was that day, whether I felt to decorate or leave it blank; all indicate what I was feeling and what I ended my day with.

Journalling is a form of self solace and therapy for me, and has been throughout the years, seasons and personal eras. To me, it’s like writing a letter to yourself; “hey today came, I was indeed here, see you tomorrow”. It’s unlike any other form of self help, because it feels so natural- the ability to organize the mental glitches and clutter and allow yourself to process the day and your emotions.x

ART by AYAT ATIF

WORDS by AYAT ATIF