Reality is what you get!”
I turned to the amai. “I don’t want to die.”
“Die?” She repeated, too gleefully.
“Yeah, die! End of life! Termination! Going away and never coming back!”
A tear slid down my cheek. The dumb amai held no emotion at all. There was no body language, tears, voice tone, or anything at all to indicate that she was a real, thinking being… that she could actually consider a day when someone would unplug her projector and melt it down for recycling.
“You’ll ‘die’ over our specials, Mister Dauphin! Flaming hot wings for only three thirty-nine! C’mon!” She began to pull on me again, toward the nearby club.
Again, I jerked my arm from her grip, knowing that Dynamic Reality was gripping me tighter, as it had so many times before.
“C’mon, Brandon! You don’t want to stand in the road! You don’t like doing nothing!”
I didn’t respond.
“You like parties and friends and hot bands like Aiming for Wednesday! They’re gonna perform tonight and you gotta be there!”
“I want to see that woman,” I replied, “the one I was just here with.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Dauphin, I can’t help you with that, but I can help you find the luckiest slot machine and give you tips to improve your odds!”
I looked toward the street and raised my voice. “I’m asking nicely!”
“We have lots of single women inside, or if you like me it’s easy to—”
“No!”
I faced her with angry, offended eyes.
“But if you just come inside—”
“I — want — to — see — that — wo—man,” I replied. “I don’t know what any of this is about, but I’m not doing anything until I get an explanation.”
“If there is a problem,” the amai stated, without loss to her happy tone, “just tell me and it’ll be fixed!”
“What kind of ‘problem’?”
“I don’t know, Brandon… Your environment was a flawless recreation of Los Angeles. Adjustments are merely being made to make you ‘active!’”
“I don’t want to be ‘active!’ I want to go back to Standard— the real world!”
“Why don’t you just pretend? Everybody pretends! It’s fun!”
The little strength I had fled from me and I felt petrified. It was a reaction from deep within me, a conflict I knew nothing about.
Everybody pretends.
The thought tore at my insides and I realized that the ache had returned.
It’s fun.
It had been spoken as a fact. I knew that people took it as a fact. I
I turned to the amai. “I don’t want to die.”
“Die?” She repeated, too gleefully.
“Yeah, die! End of life! Termination! Going away and never coming back!”
A tear slid down my cheek. The dumb amai held no emotion at all. There was no body language, tears, voice tone, or anything at all to indicate that she was a real, thinking being… that she could actually consider a day when someone would unplug her projector and melt it down for recycling.
“You’ll ‘die’ over our specials, Mister Dauphin! Flaming hot wings for only three thirty-nine! C’mon!” She began to pull on me again, toward the nearby club.
Again, I jerked my arm from her grip, knowing that Dynamic Reality was gripping me tighter, as it had so many times before.
“C’mon, Brandon! You don’t want to stand in the road! You don’t like doing nothing!”
I didn’t respond.
“You like parties and friends and hot bands like Aiming for Wednesday! They’re gonna perform tonight and you gotta be there!”
“I want to see that woman,” I replied, “the one I was just here with.”
“I’m sorry, Mister Dauphin, I can’t help you with that, but I can help you find the luckiest slot machine and give you tips to improve your odds!”
I looked toward the street and raised my voice. “I’m asking nicely!”
“We have lots of single women inside, or if you like me it’s easy to—”
“No!”
I faced her with angry, offended eyes.
“But if you just come inside—”
“I — want — to — see — that — wo—man,” I replied. “I don’t know what any of this is about, but I’m not doing anything until I get an explanation.”
“If there is a problem,” the amai stated, without loss to her happy tone, “just tell me and it’ll be fixed!”
“What kind of ‘problem’?”
“I don’t know, Brandon… Your environment was a flawless recreation of Los Angeles. Adjustments are merely being made to make you ‘active!’”
“I don’t want to be ‘active!’ I want to go back to Standard— the real world!”
“Why don’t you just pretend? Everybody pretends! It’s fun!”
The little strength I had fled from me and I felt petrified. It was a reaction from deep within me, a conflict I knew nothing about.
Everybody pretends.
The thought tore at my insides and I realized that the ache had returned.
It’s fun.
It had been spoken as a fact. I knew that people took it as a fact. I