Rendering

By L. G. McCary

I think I would call this pain if I could feel anything at all.

My cousin used to rave about float tanks. He said they were the ultimate form of relaxation, drifting in warm salt water in complete darkness. The experience disconnected your brain from your body, so you became a mind suspended in nothingness.

But my cousin could stand up and leave the pool whenever he wanted. I don’t have a pool to leave. They told my parents I would have something resembling a body, but so far, I’m just a mind suspended in a blank void. If I had a stomach, I’d be sick.

How long have I been here? Hours? Years? There’s no way to mark time. My synapses are firing madly trying to feel anything, like phantom limb pain except phantom everything.

I’m crazy for agreeing to this.

Test 27: Begin

The phrase is inserted into my consciousness like an envelope slipping through the mail slot of a front door.

Hello, Enid.

Hello?

I have no idea how to convey the thought back through the mail slot.

Hello, Enid.

Hello! I scream at the top of my consciousness.

Out of the nothing, something forms. It coalesces around a point of light, adjusting into focus like a bad home video: a computer screen and keyboard.

If you can see this, try to send us a response.

I’m grateful for an image to anchor my mind, but I have no idea how to interact with this screen without hands.

The construct will continue to load around you.

A gray wall materializes, followed by three more walls, a floor, and a ceiling. I’m in a featureless gray box. Why are they giving me a box before a body?

The walls turn a more pleasant shade of pale blue. The floor becomes white carpet. A bed, bedside table, and lamp shiver into existence. The computer screen and keyboard are suddenly on a white desk. Smaller items gradually cover the surfaces. A neon green photo frame with the words “best friends” in glittery pink letters appears next to a basket filled with hospital bracelets.

I didn’t know the uncanny valley could apply to my bedroom. I know the familiar surroundings are meant to be comforting, but I want to run. I would feel less creeped out if everything looked like Minecraft.

Your body is loading. Please wait.

A mirror appears, and I see a mannequin reflected in it. The image flickers. I see myself. But not myself. Honestly, my bedroom was unnerving, but the brown-eyed, freckled blond standing in the mirror makes me want to scream. Then her hands move, and I realize I am moving them.

Calibrating…

They’ve clothed me in pale pink scrubs. I can’t feel anything, but I can move. I wiggle my fingers, take awkward steps around the room, and look at my too-perfect face in the mirror again.

Please respond if you can, Enid.

I shuffle to my desk and fumble a response on the keyboard with one finger.

I’m here.

Can you see your room and your body?

Yes.

Stand by.

I knew this would be a strange experience no matter how realistic, but this room is creeping me out.

Hi, honey. This is Mom. What’s it like?

I have no idea how to answer that without freaking her out.

It’s weird.

I’m sure. Remember this is only temporary.

I hope so.

You can talk to me whenever you want. They said you have a watch on your arm that you can use to text.

I tap the silver square on my wrist.

Yep. Sure so. I mean sure do.

Even here, I can’t escape autocorrect.

A sound. The first sound I’ve heard in this place, and it’s a doorbell. It takes me a moment to manipulate my bedroom door. The rest of the house is in various stages of visibility. I make my way to the front door and open it to find what appears to be an anime character come to life. He sports a spiky blue fauxhawk and eyes a bit too large to be human.

“You must have lived in a gated community.” His voice reminds me of that nerdy kid in my chemistry class who was always answering first. “I’ll bet your parents got the 360 scan for your whole house.”

“Who are you?” I didn’t know I could speak until I did it. My voice is thinner and flatter like it’s compressed. I recognize the same thin quality in his voice.

“I’m Theo. You’re Enid. They told me you’d be coming.”

They didn’t tell me there would be someone else. I knew this technology had been tried before, but I didn’t think we’d be in the same construct.

“Nice to meet you,” I say. I’m distracted by my digital front yard behind him. It’s bubbly and shimmering like a stream.

“What kind of cancer did you have?” he asks.

“Metastatic osteosarcoma. It was already in six places.”

“Nasty stuff.” Theo’s blue hair glows and shifts to an iridescent teal. “Hodgkin’s lymphoma. Really aggressive.”

We stare at each other for a moment.

“What do we do now?” I say.

“Settle in. This is home for now, right?”

“Right.” I look around at the facsimile of my house and wish I knew how to shudder.

“It’s not as creepy after a while.”

“I hope so,” I say. “Do you think they’ll find a cure?”

“Maybe. If not, at least we have plenty to do.”

“There’s more?”

“Are you kidding? You must not have read the pamphlet,” Theo says with a wide grin.

“I was too busy vomiting from chemo.”

“Then I have just one question: do you like Lord of the Rings?”

“Sure.”

“We are going to Mount Doom, Samwise. Follow me.” He turns back to our front walk and laughs. “Sorry, we’d better give it a minute. Your yard is still rendering.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

L. G. McCary is a homeschooling mom of four and wife of an army chaplain. She writes speculative fiction, long and short, and blogs about military life, adventures in social awkwardness, and theology. She believes Frosty the Snowman and his frozen army are plotting the demise of human civilization, and she awaits them with grim determination and a flamethrower.

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