Hollowgram

By Beka Gremikova

“It’s amazing,” I breathe, kneeling on the pavement. “Looks so real.”

“Adorable, isn’t he?” Mrs. Dawson smiles down at her hologram dog. “When Jack died, I didn’t know what to do with myself. But now…” Holo-Jack stands on his back legs and barks at me. I can almost feel the warmth of his fur against my cheek.

Unthinking, I reach to hug him. My hands go through him, and the vision stutters.

Sickened, I lurch to my feet. Steady. I blink, and Jack is running in circles, whole again.

My neighbor gives a nervous laugh. “No hologram is perfect, right?” She glances behind us at the neon lights of the dilapidated shop, Hologram Heaven. “You’re getting one, aren’t you? What of?”

I swallow. My fingers itch for a cigarette. In my mind, I see Mom shaking her head at me. “Um—”

Mrs. Dawson’s gaze narrows. “Lea, you can’t. It’s illegal. Besides, Hologram Heaven isn’t that sort of store.”

She’d be surprised what some stores will do for money. Ever since human holograms were outlawed, hologram companies have been struggling.

And I’ve got the money. I don’t plan to use it on university, so…

“I just want to see my mom again,” I whisper.

“Honey, it’s just—I don’t want you hurt even more by…” She gazes down at Jack, her shoulders slumping. “By unfulfilled promises.” She pats my shoulder and hurries off, not even checking to see if Jack follows her.

I stuff my hands—and my doubts—down my jacket pockets. I need to see Mom again. Not just a photo. I need to see her moving—lips stretching into the smile that refuses to show her teeth, fingers fluffing her black-and-silver curls.

I enter the shop, pulling my cash card from my pocket.

The guy behind the counter glances at my expression and sighs. “No human holograms.”

He must think I’m one of those creeps who make celebrity holograms to sell to rabid fans.

“It’s my mom. And I’ve got the money.”  I hand him my card, and he swipes it through his scanner.

His eyes bulge at the amount I’ve preloaded—everything Mom saved for my future. With another sigh, he shakes his head. “You got it. Reference items?”

I take out a couple photos of Mom and a voice recording. He slips them under the counter. “We’ll let you know when to pick it up.”

Two weeks later, it’s ready.

I connect the last wire to the hologram stand that’s nestled in the corner of my apartment like a shrine. Sitting back on my heels, I take a deep breath and press the button.

Within three flickers, Mom’s there—short, smiling, with that salt-and-pepper hair.

Don’t touch. Just look.

I crank the volume to catch every cadence of Mom’s voice and watch the hologram until my eyes ache.

Mom flips her fingers through her curls. Lea, how do I look? she asks, like she always did when she came back from the hairdresser.

“Amazing,” I breathe. “So real.” So small. So huggable. Without thinking, I reach out to touch her arm.

My fingers pass through it.

Steady. I blink.

Mom smiles, pointing to something in the distance. Something I can never reach.

The realness of her falsity steals my words. No matter how much I spend, no matter how hard I try, she’s never coming back. I couldn’t save even a piece of her true essence.

Steady—

Howls burst out of me, wild and enraged. I slam my fists against the floor, rattling the hologram’s flashing display. But I got my money’s worth—Mom’s form doesn’t even flicker. She just narrows her eyes like she’s about to scold me.

I pound my fists and scream out my sobs until I’m too tired to move and my cries have ebbed into painful, rib-creaking hiccups.

Frantic knocking rattles my door.

I sit up slowly, shivering, and crawl to the door. “Who’s there?” I croak.

“Police. A neighbor called in a noise complaint.”

I freeze, suddenly aware of the illegal hologram behind me.

“Hello? Hello!”

There’s nowhere to run, anyways. I unlock the door.

It swings open to reveal a grey-haired police officer, who kneels beside me. “Are you all right?”

I study his face; it’s drawn with fine lines, like he knows grief. Maybe he’ll understand.

His gaze sweeps from my face to the hologram, and he stiffens, frowning at me.

“I just wanted to see my mom.” My voice is scratchy, and I can barely breathe. I could go to jail.

He sighs deeply. “They hurt, don’t they. The holograms.” He closes his eyes. “They can never be… real enough.” He helps me stand and step back into my apartment.

“You’re going to take it away, aren’t you?”

He bows his head. “I’m sorry. You can keep or sell the parts, but the software’s gotta go.”

“I wish she could be real,” I whisper.

The cop disconnects the wire from the stand, and Mom’s form flickers out. His mouth trembles. “Holograms are nice lies,” he mutters. “But when you realize they’re hollow, and they can’t replace the people…” He stares down at the cord in his hand, a tear trickling down his cheek. Slowly, both of us crying, he dismantles the rest of the hologram, until I’m staring at an empty wall.

After some questioning, he lets me off with a warning, jotting down Hologram Heaven’s address. I follow him outside and sit on the front stoop as the sun rises, lighting a cigarette.

Mrs. Dawson approaches, dragged along by a new puppy. “Can’t sleep in with this girl around,” she jokes.

“Where’s Jack?”

“I returned the hologram.” Mrs. Dawson’s eyes glisten. “Nothing can replace Jack.” The puppy barrels into my legs, a bundle of soft, wriggly fur. “But I didn’t want to be alone, either.”

The puppy leaps to lick my face. I put out my cigarette and wrap my arms around her neck. Her fur tickles my cheek. “She’s beautiful,” I whisper.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Beka Gremikova lives and dreams from the Ottawa Valley, Ontario, Canada. Her passions include wolves, travelling, folklore and myth, and nerding out over anime, manga, and The Legend of Zelda. She has multiple flash fiction stories published with Havok, including in the Bingeworthy anthology. She’s also published in A Kind of Death from Uncommon Universes Press and the upcoming Faces to the Sun collection edited by S.J. Blasko.

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