Author: Colin Jeffrey

As Janet walked the familiar path to the simulation chamber, the stainless steel walls reminded her of the morgue where she’d viewed his body.

The technician at the front desk barely looked up from his crossword as she approached.

“Twenty minutes. Don’t talk about anything outside of his sim.”

“I don’t,” Janet replied, stepping in.

He shrugged. “That’s what you all say.”

The chamber door hissed shut before she could respond. She lay back in the recliner as the neural link slid into the port behind her ear with a click. The world drifted away.

She was on the beach. Of course. Always the beach.

The sky was that annoying, not-quite-right shade of blue that she was told “couldn’t be changed.” Waves rolled in gently. The temperature was 24°C, as always.

Derek lounged on a folding chair at the edge of the water, beer in hand, wearing the Hawaiian shirt he’d made her promise he’d be buried in. How he wore it in here was still a mystery to her.

She sat beside him. The sand didn’t stick to her skin – someone had decided that would be annoying in the afterlife. It reduced the illusion for her.

“I brought you a present.”

Derek sighed. “Don’t do that, Janet. You know I’m dead.”

She placed the gift beside him. “You can open it later.”

“Let me guess – a simulated diary for my simulated thoughts in my simulated life?”

She smiled weakly. “They told me you’d adjust.”

“I did. Then I maladjusted.” He smirked humorlessly. “Then I ran out of things to do.”

Two seagulls glided silently by, like they were on wires. They never pooped. The developers were very proud of that.

“I hear they’re adding music soon,” she offered.

“Oh great. A soundtrack to lose my mind to.”

They sat in silence. Derek scratched his arm – his simulated body had no nerves, just habit.

“Do you really remember everything now?”

He exhaled. “All of it. Living, dying… then realizing I wasn’t real and not being able to forget.”

“But they said the transfer would suppress…”

“They’re salesmen, Janet.”

She looked out at the endless artificial ocean.

“You’re still you,” she said.

“No, I’m not. I’ve got my memories, my habits – even my opinions – but I’m not me. I’m a simulacrum.”

“Sometimes I think about deleting the file.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“I’d feel like I was killing you.”

“I’m already dead.”

“But you’re still here.”

“No, I’m not. I’m just a reflection in a mirror, a disembodied echo.”

The seagulls sailed past again.

“Janet, this is a lovely tomb. But Derek – your real Derek – isn’t in it.”

She reached for his hand. It was warm, because the simulation said it was.

“I miss you,” she said.

He squeezed her hand. “If you stop coming… maybe we’ll both finally forget.”

“You want that?”

“I don’t know. That’s the problem with being an apparition. Wanting isn’t part of the program.”

The sky dimmed for a moment and a soft chime sounded, indicating her allocated visiting time was almost over.

She stood up. So did he. He smiled, hugged her. It felt – almost, but not quite – like Derek.

Then the beach faded. The chair, the gulls, Derek – all gone.

Outside, the technician handed her a tissue, his eyes still on his crossword.

“Forty-two across. ‘An act of kindness.’ Five letters.”

Janet wiped her eyes.

“Mercy,” she said.

He wrote it in.

It fitted.