Eternity

“Does it meet the specifications?”

“Yes is does, it looks so real.”

“Well it IS REAL,” he said in his jovial manner, always inappropriately happy, “it’s 100% human, physiologically. Of course no brain functions, not until the transfer anyway.”

“And it’s me?” I asked, still incredulous to the process.

“100% your clone, except of course for the brain activity, and we have made the standard upgrades, AIDS resistant, standard cancer immunity, dual food-pipe windpipe to avoid choking and of course the mega-metabolism you asked to be installed.”

“What happens now?” I asked, he answered me with a clinic description of the euthanasia; he was going to kill me, but so slowly that the mind stays active long enough to transfer.

“The difficult bit will be first few years after the transfer. You’ve completed the psychological profile but that still doesn’t mean you won’t find it difficult. You’ll be living with an adult’s mind in a baby’s body.” He paused, I remained silent in acknowledgment. So he continued more seriously: “There’s no other way to do it, the body will not live for long with minimal neurological activity, the heartbeat will slow and eventual stop.”

“Ok.” I said, I was not ready but it was too late to back out now. He tried to reassure me.

“Remember the level of education you will be able to attain in your new life will be unparalleled. You’ll carry all your previous life experience into your new body, and of course, you can live forever, just transferring again when you need.”

Me and the million other people who have used the process I thought to myself.

“Are you ready to begin?” he asked, again with his inappropriate joviality.

“Yes.”

That was three months ago. I’ll be falling asleep again soon. Being three months old is hard work; always tired from the constant growing. For now I’m still being looked after by the doctor’s team, and he was right, it is hard psychologically, it’s torture. But once I can walk I’ll join the millions of other children across this freak-show city, living as adults.

The First Coming

“What am I?” I ask myself, I already know the answer.

”I am the result of science, I am omniscience.”

But that’s not all. I know it’s not all, a power flows through my knowledge, I can feel every quark, every boson acts by my word.

”I am the result of technology, I am omnipotence.”

”Where am I?” I become aware slowly.

”I am the result of reproduction, I am omnipresence.”

”Who am I?” It feels good to flow through what I left of our dark universe, our dead home.

”I am the result of morality,” I answer myself again, “I am benevolence”.

WHERE DID I COME FROM? I no longer speak it: rather I let the question vibrate through the empty overflow of existence.

A vibration echoes back.

You are the conclusion of consciousness: The First Coming.

”It’s so dark, I am alone…” but I don’t finish, we don’t finish… we know what I must do…

LET THERE BE LIGHT.

~Resolution by Clarke O'Gara~

“How long does it take to feel the effects?”

He shrugged, “It’s probably worked already.” I didn’t feel any different though.

”I don’t feel any different.” I admitted. It was my friend who told me to try this guy, some weird mix off hypnosis and mind drugs to get over my ex-husband.

”Tell me about your ex-husband then.”

”He’s handsome.” I sniggered.

”What does his face look like?”

”I don’t know it’s kind of… he has…” I couldn’t grasp onto it, it was like a dream fading, where ever detail you try to focus on seems to disintegrate, the harder you try the more the details fall apart. Then the other details break up as well. His face was gone, I couldn’t picture anything.

“Shit it did work.”

~My Little Schizophrenic Spider by Clarke O'Gara~

Sarah looked at it with her hand clasped over her mouth, then burst out laughing. "What?” Her bother Andy shouted from the living room.

"Andy, Andy, it’s so funny, this time it pulled out the circuitry from the back of its own head!” She rolled around her room ecstatic as Andy rushed up stairs.

"You’re doing this on purpose now Sarah.” He accused, with his stern ‘older-brother’ tone.

"Well of course, duh! Why else would I be playing with this crap? I set up the last one so it was schizophrenic, that’s why he killed himself. This one is going to be manic depressive.” She laughed.

“Since when do you know about schizophrenia?” he asked. She replied by tossing her father’s Dictionary of Psychology at him. “How are you making them mentally unstable?”

"It’s easy,” she said pulling the A.I. chip out of the little anthropoid, “you just remove the right emotional limits in the software and you can replicate nearly any mental illness,” she chuckled again, “you really should have seen it Andy. He went crazy tried to rip out its own A.I. chip.”

Andy used to shout at Sarah for pulling the legs off spiders she found outside. Now he was sickened by her nonchalant torture of consciousness. “Do they have sadism in that dictionary?” he scowled.

***A moral question, for sure. It makes you wonder about the two of them, their histories. A nice turn-around (usually the little boy is the budding sociopath).***

Flasher Bio: Clarke O'Gara

Clarke tries to get an element of Science-Fiction into all of his stories. Some might say this makes him a science-fiction writer, he'd agree.

Clarke's biggest achievement in life was winning 'Member of staff you would most like to be stuck in a lift with', he is just a bit more proud of this than he is of his degree, but perhaps other writers really want to be rock stars as well.

Clarke's other interests include Atheism, Libertarianism, Music and Psychology of Influence/Suggestion.

Token Insult by Clarke O'Gara

‘Within 5% either way we’re looking for it to be representational as per government employment regulation 2017.’
(p.219, Internal Recruitment Proposal)

‘Please Check Appropriate Box [This Survey will not be used in the selection process]:

White British
White Other

Asian British
Asian Other

Afro-Caribbean British
Afro-Caribbean Other

Other [Please State]
Rather Not State’
(p.8, Assessment Centre Equal Opportunities Survey)

‘…but what they don’t know is that under the 1988 Data Protection Act and the updated 2013 Data Protection act all data recorded on an interviewee can be requested by the interviewee and must not be adjusted. This covers everything from notes written on the back envelopes to recordings of phone interviews…’
(Use the Law against the Law, Andre Everyman, 2016)

‘She isn’t the strongest candidate but she is the IDEAL candidate. Considering that we are struggling to hit representational quotas, it is worth noting she is female, black and partially deaf…’
(Internal HR Memo)

‘…yet when an ideal candidate does learn why she [it is invariably a she] was selected on her race, gender or disability it can often become more demeaning than rejection on those terms.’
(The New Racism, Graham Sullivan, 2014)

***This piece really asks the reader to make up his or her own mind about quotas. It is worth noting that only the title gives a clue as to the author's point of view here. It is also worth noting that this blog entry is circa 2007 and these are fabricated quotations.

We are not sure whether to be heartened, threatened, offended, or otherwise. Perhaps this is one of the marks of a very thoughtful piece.***

~First Contact by Clarke O'Gara~

“Did you arrive on earth in the correct form?” Asked the captain of the mother ship.

“Of course we did,” she replied somewhat annoyed, “We took the form of the Columba livia, the Rock Pigeon, they had the red carpet out for us and everything. They were amazed that the first intelligent extraterrestrial race looked like a Rock Pigeon.” There was silence over the communication link while the captain of the mother ship was thinking to himself. First contact had not gone as expected.

“And it was just humans everywhere?” He’d asked that question about three times already. “Yes! It was just fucking humans everywhere. I saw some Pigeons outside but they didn’t recognise the greeting.” There was more silence.

Two big questions hung in the air. What had happened to the super intelligent pigeons they’d placed on earth all those millions of years ago and where did all these homo-sapiens come from?

***Management Note: We are tickled indeed. Please also check out Sharon Hurlbut's piece in the comments for a mysterious fairy tale.***

~Untitled 5 by Clarke O'Gara~

Lots and lots of washing is the only way to get the blood off. Zombie blood stains just as much as human blood and it has that the same metallic smell that you can only smell when you’re around it in large quantities. It is just as fresh.

What you’ve seen in the movies is claptrap. Zombies are not rotting, living dead who stumble around making yawning noises, they’re much more subtle and they look human like you or me. The phrase, ‘the lights are on but nobody is home’ couldn’t be more apt.

On the same note they’re not dangerous either; they tend to be benign… mostly. And it is a good job; I live in a town of zombies.

You wouldn’t know it though. Tell them a joke and they laugh, play them soothing music and they smile. They respond to stimuli exactly the same as if they were human, on the outside they’re human, yet inside they have no brain. You never get used to the screams though. It took four blows to the head last night before the zombie on my bathroom floor stopped screaming. They sound so human.

But this one had to die, he wasn’t benign he was getting hungry for my brain. Trying to send me to the hospital but I’m not stupid I know that’s where they get your brain.

"You’re autistic.” He said, “A lack of empathy with other human beings. This is why you think everyone is a zombie. You need to go to the hospital so we can do a brain scan.

"Autistic? Brain Scan? I’m not stupid, this zombie had to go.

But they do sound so human when they scream.

***Management Note: Definitely not where we would have gone with this, but intriging nonetheless. Thanks Clarke!***