Ancient Of Days on :
Is he talking to himself?
Tuesday, August 9. 2005Tommy Xiang
Tommy didn't have a problem with blood. He was a doctor. Blood was part of his work, part of his life. But this blood was different. This blood didn't come off. No matter how many times he washed his hands, it was always there, somehow sticky and warm, and cold and slippery at once.
He dried his hands, and began dressing himself. He glanced in the mirror to make sure that he hadn't gotten any blood on his clothes, and washed his hands again. In his mind, he saw the look on her face, the way her eyes had opened wide in suprise when the first bullet had ripped through her. He shook his head, and walked out of the bathroom. "It wasn't real. She's just a computer simulation. It wasn't real." He poured soy milk over his shredded wheat, turned on the weather report, and poured himself a glass of orange juice. "But when does real become real? How are your actions in a simulated environment different from your actions in a real environment?" He tried to concentrate on the weather report, but the argument in his head was too loud. "She wasn't human. She was just a clever simulation--a series of 1's and 0's shaped like a girl." "So, that's not real blood on your hands, is it? It's just a clever simulation--a series of 1's and 0's that feels like blood." Tommy shuddered. He hurried over to the sink and began washing his hands, turning the water as hot as he could stand it. His watch alarm rang. Hands still dripping, he hurried out the door, leaving his breakfast on the table, untouched.
All day long, his patients' faces seemed to accuse him. "You killed her!" they screamed. By the end of the day, he was shaking. His hands were raw from the constant washing. He closed his office door, and sank into his chair. Burying his face in his hands, his body shook with sobs. "I didn't mean to kill anyone." "Then why did you have a gun?" "It was a game." "A game. The ultimate blood sport. Is that it?" "No. That's not what it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be for them. It was supposed to give them a way to get away from their pain. It was supposed to be somewhere that they could be strong and healthy. It was supposed to help them. It was supposed to help them." He sat up. He must have fallen asleep. It was dark outside. He wasn't sure, but he thought he felt blood on his hands. Trackbacks
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Ancient Of Days on :
Is he talking to himself?
Johnny Elbows on :
Yes, he's talking to himself.
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