Jenny scowls, her foot tapping out the passing moments as if marking my silence.
The brochure lies on the table between us. Big Bang, Incorporated. Experience enlightenment.
“This awakening,” she says, “this little mind vacation was supposed to end after a week.” She leans forward, pleading. “Goddammit, Mo. Say something. Argue with me.”
I need no words. The universe and I are one.
Jenny flicks the ring on her left index finger, triggering her uniPort. A thread of light jumps to connect with the ring on her right hand. She turns her palms down, and her scheduling screen illuminates between us.
“Look at all those red squares.” She spreads her hands to enlarge the view. “The days I covered for you this month. Afternoons you missed picking up the kids. Neglected appointments. Forgotten dinners with our friends.” She laughs, the breathy laugh she uses when she doesn’t find something funny. “There’s a shit-load of red on this screen, Mo.”
She closes her uniPort and leans back. Her body displaces the air around her. Matter moving through space. The moment unfolds like the shuffling of cards, and within it, there is truth. All is good.
“I understand that you needed a break, but your firm called again. They’re going to fire you, and I don’t make enough…” Jenny’s voice wavers; her words quiver in the air between us. “We’re falling behind.”
A tear sits at the corner of her eye; hydrogen and oxygen and sodium chloride held just at the eyelash. I can feel the bonds that keep them together, the forces helping to bring the entire universe into existence. At the same moment, a thought, a pale blue egg, shapes within me: I’m about to lose my wife and children.
A spark flares in my frontal lobe like an ember within damp wood, a smoldering that won’t catch. Images form then sputter: Sitting across a table from Jenny at Valentino’s. Her black dress. Candlelight. The children at the swimming pool. Comforting Jenny when her father died. These are memories worth holding, aren’t they? Important feelings. I struggle to hold Jenny’s words, to keep them together, to stay present with this person I’ve lived with for fifteen years, but bright rays of sunshine push her aside.
“Your daughters miss you, Mo. What happened to the man who yells at the VR feed during football games? The guy who laughs when the dog chases her tail? I miss you too.”
She’s about to tell me she’s leaving.
“You’re not well,” she says. “I can’t take care of you. The girls are afraid.”
Don’t. This thought, a chunk of heavy clay, globs within me. It slips and shifts beneath the weight of my attention before dissolving. A sense of calm washes that don't away. All is good. Except—it’s not all good. I don’t want them to leave. That perfect egg begins to crack.
Jenny wipes her tears. “That goddamn company.” She rises from the chair. “I need you to know, I talked with the lawyer. We're joining the class action suit.” Jenny leaves the room and calls for the girls.
Somewhere deep within me, I picture myself saying her name, standing to follow her, hugging her, stopping her from leaving. I finger the uniPort. The screens of my old life scroll and flash before me, revealing the illusion of my past existence. Struggling against the light, I locate the contract and illuminate it.
Big Bang Incorporated. All parties agree to the terms and conditions outlined herein.
I scan the Explanation of Process. It explains the electromagnetic manipulation of my neural network, which has leveled the activity within my parietal lobe. I have agreed to their use of Espiritu347, a proprietary herbal treatment that stimulates regions within my limbic system. The result—a short-term sense of spiritual awakening.
My hand shakes as I scroll through the contract on my uniPort, the battle raging within me. I glance at the Required Disclosure.
Some individuals have experienced complete synthetic Nirvana. These instances are rare, and Big Bang cannot be held responsible for any permanent behavioral change.
In the foyer, Jenny tells the girls to wait in the car. The front door clicks shut. A moment later, Jenny steps into the kitchen, and the screens of my old life collapse.
“We’re leaving, Mo.” Her voice sounds small, like she’s already gone. “I’m taking the girls to Mom’s. They can’t be here for this, but I’ll be back to meet the people from the care facility. They said you can stay there with the others until we get this sorted.” She kisses my cheek. “Just for a while.”
Overwhelming compassion for Jenny wells within me. She’ll be okay. Everything unfolds as it should.
“Mo! Are you listening?” Jenny’s voice sounds pained, trapped within her physical illusion. One day she may find peace—as I have. Warmth surges through my breast and circles my heart like a current. It erodes me, smoothing out the edges of my ego. Yet, something darker sloshes through the pools of light, something rough and ragged, like two stones grating against one another. That part of me screams for recognition and pleads for my frontal lobe’s neurons to fire; it begs for Jenny to see me.
“Please,” I say.
Jenny, having turned to leave, stops and faces me. “Mo?” Her eyes, hopeful and teary, catch the room’s fluorescent light. “We don’t want to leave. Just give me some sign you’re still with us.”
Warm light pulses through me. A tear forms in my eye. The material world melts away like butter in the sun—soft and fluid. An explosion of hot, gooey sunshine. I begin to hum the universe’s deep song, and my chest resonates with the divine. A smile forms on my lips as I rise to dance with the godhead.
The front door clicks shut. All is good.
Sam W. Pisciotta is an intrepid storyteller hurtling through spacetime on the power of morning coffee and late-night tea. He writes stories for people who want to visit other planets, learn magic from birds, or camp in haunted forests. His M.A. in Literary Studies from the University of Colorado trained him to deconstruct a variety of texts; living life taught him how to put them back together. Sam is a graduate of the Odyssey writing program. He loves holidays and birthdays, pints at the bar, and falling down the research rabbit hole. He would never choose the blue pill. Connect with him at www.silo34.com and @silo34 on X and Instagram.
If you enjoyed this story, you might also want to read “The Island of Dolls” and “The Worm’s Twist,” published last fall in Stupefying Stories SHOWCASE.
1 comments:
In my opinion, this is realistic science fiction, an exploration of what might REALLY come of things when we tamper with such things. Families are going to fall apart. People are going to leave us. It isn't going to be an "Oh, I understand now, honey. Everything is going to be fine" hug ending. Thanks for this.
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