Alex is sweating. One of her limbs reaches out and carefully pats her forehead dry. It recoils slowly, then continues moving to the steady rhythm of her run. Up and down, up and down. The machine keeps her moving. It keeps her in perfect shape. Her life extends no farther than the machine that surrounds her: a machine more real than the outside world.
After all, what distinguishes the theoretical from the artificial; the artificial from the real? If Alex wants to see a friend, all she needs to do is think of the visit and the machine reads her thoughts. Suddenly, she’s transported to a coffee shop with her long-lost pal from High School. The machine can have a virtual conversation with her or it can position her arms to form the shape of a hug. It can give her the taste of coffee and the crunch of almonds. Without leaving her room, Alex gets to see the whole world! Wherever she wants to go, the machine can take her. Whoever she wants to be, the machine can make her.
And yet, something’s not right. What is it? Perhaps it’s that if Alex were to detach herself from the machine (an impossible feat) she could look around to see the room she had once loved destroyed by neglect. Her curtains are torn. Her drawers have been ransacked. Her cat lies on the floor, dead of starvation. Which makes no sense because in Alex’s world, everything is perfect.
Rach Klein
