When I first discovered the consequences of the internet I wasn’t aware the world
would be ending in the same day. As usual, I’d meet up with my friend Lia in our usual spot. We’d walk along the tip of the ocean right where the wet sand met dry. Sometimes I’d take a mound of wet sand and hurl it into the sea of those dying of thirst, to let the grains mingle, I guess. Or I’d sprinkle dry sand like salt, along a patch of wet sand; just like a chef would season a pink slab of carcass, only to have it conform and disappear from view daring me to do it again. It was like a game and I’d lose every time.
After my walk with Lia, we’d hike over to the boardwalk to fetch something to snack on
and stare at the amazed tourists who flocked like seagulls to what we called home. The flashing lights, the beings of metal and wiring rolling alongside them. They’d whirl into the shops and try on clothes they were interested in buying. Tourists would ogle at them when really, they’re no different. They’d lost an arm or a leg in their lifetime too.
The tourists walked odd. They hobbled trying to figure out how to adjust to their new leg
or their manufactured arms would flail around without much for them to do about it. The chrome presences they’d try so hard to avoid, wouldn’t falter when stirring over to control the limb. I never understood why they were so upset; we were at the beach! Everyday we saw new people arrive trying to figure out what they were doing in a beach town when just a few minutes ago they were preparing to undergo amputation surgery.
We call it the The Drive; short for “test drive”. When engineers created this method of
replacing people’s missing limbs with robotic ones in an effort to ruin everything anyone ever worked towards, the vast malfunctions that ended in fatalities or the cliche fear of robots overtaking everything and killing everyone was further implanted in the wilting garden that is the human mind. Thus, they dump all amputees here in an imaginary paradise where the only limit is what our minds allow us to set. It’s not that bad; I’ve been here ever since the first accident. It wasn’t hard, they wipe any memory of any relationship or anything you once knew before your departure.
We could easily hurt ourselves over and over and no one would die. Our new additions
would prevent it from happening; the whole purpose of us being here means we were seriously injured anyway. So ultimately, in an effort to keep us safe from injuring ourselves physically, again, they’ve narrowed it down to amputating something far greater than any body part attached to any one of us; they’ve targeted our minds. Driving us to the brink of insanity, confining us to one imaginary place, with imaginary people, with no means of escape. Why be upset, I mean, I’m at the beach!
HOWLER LIT 