Author : Alfonso P. Posadas Jr.
“Here you go, hun.” Byron McGrath placed the Prosthetic Sight head strap upon his daughter, Molly. It had taken over a year to acquire the necessary papers and signatures for both the hospital and insurance company to allow Molly to enter the rehabilitation program so that she could regain her eyesight. She’d lost it in the same car accident that had taken the life of her mother, his wife. It had taken months of connectomic calibration sessions to align the software and the hardware that would allow her to finally utilize the technology that would return her sense of sight, followed by weeks of intense training to enable her brain to adjust to the foreign use of her previously robbed eyes.
“How is it?”
Molly adjusted to both the weight of the head strap and the foreign sensation in her brain before she responded. She waited for the microwave simulators at the back of the prosthetic machine to properly align the data received from the spectacle-lens like cameras to the visual cortex. Soon enough, the images were transduced into her mind into a near photo-realistic rendition of the outside world. The field of vision was narrow and restricted, akin to a pair of binoculars.
Much of what Molly’s brain perceived as “sight” was, in truth, a rendered composition of data. Or rather, the images gathered from the Prosthetic Sight were not translated to images that the brain understood on a one-to-one basis as with normal sight. The optical data collected was sorted through both memories Molly had possessed and streamed from the internet. Yet, the image was still imperfect from true sight and thus she must train her brain to clear the visuals into a sense that she could fully utilize in her everyday life.
“It’s wonderful Daddy!” Molly exclaimed in pure joy. “I can see everything! I can see again- oh…?”
“What’s wrong Molly?” Byron asked in concern.
“There’s this strange image near the corner of my eye.” Molly explained. “It’s a weird looking plant with words that read ‘Eat this, never diet again!’ What does it mean Daddy?”
Byron sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “God damned it Google….”
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