There Is No Story: Corrupted Entries

It hurts. Mariella didn’t blink yesterday. Is it possible to count every pixel creating the flawless gray of this fake sidewalk? Is it possible to cure corrupted files and rewrite their codes? Mariella didn’t blink today. I want to do something for her so badly. But all I can do is observe her. Mariella is still standing there and I am still sitting here. We are so close, yet so far from each other. Multicolored spots are swirling everywhere, static electricity is jumping on the tips of my fingers. I’m sure Mariella feels my continuous gaze. I know that she knows that I know she feels it. And it hurts so much. Mariella doesn’t blink. Why does it hurt so much? Mariella doesn’t blink. Please, blink just once! Just once! The blue screen burns my eyes the moment I try to take off these stupid damned glasses. Tears and blood stain my shirt’s sleeves. It hurts so much. I’m trying to reject this role, but it seems attached to me too tightly. It hurts too much. I am just an Observer. No. No. NO. I have to do this. For her, for my dear Mariella. … 100% …? What just happened? Did you really extract all available text files? Wait a second. Not extracted, but cured. That’s exactly what I meant. Well, your antivirus did a truly remarkable job. You should let it update itself every time you turn on your computer. Well, dear Reader, I’ll start from the beginning— In reality, I find myself starting over and over again from the very end, and since there is no end and never will be, there is no beginning, at least not in my memories. Yes, once upon a time I was just one of the many people stuck within these plain beige walls, once upon a time I had a name, once upon a time I even had a life …probably. The Narrator keeps saying that he was “built” for this job, that he is just a machine, he continues to try to convince us, especially himself, and so far, he is surprisingly good at it. Indeed, if you repeat the same lie many times, sooner or later, it slowly begins to transform into truth. So, it’s not surprising that I began to doubt the existence of my own elusive backstory. It’s entirely possible that I, too, would have started denying my own humanity …except, fortunately or unfortunately, I noticed her. I found her, my dear Mariella. And when I saw her, oh yes, I could see echoes of those qualities in her, I saw my humanity within her eyes. Humanity had eluded me for all eternity and after seeing it in her, I could no longer look away and lie to myself. Echoes of old pain make me flinch once again. How many times have I died like this, bleeding, stricken by conflicted algorithms, sparkling with electricity? It happened often, very often. It’s okay, though, because I wasn’t completely alone anymore. I found her, my dear Mariella. And she found my gaze. Since that moment finally happened, all my thoughts were consumed by her, all I could observe now is that piece of the fake Street, the very place where she continues to stand completely still. These damned glasses, when I finally manage to take them off, my mind is pierced by this disgusting torturous feeling as if I have torn a part of my own flesh. I scream, cough and choke, but still overcome yet another meaninglessly unreal death. I am still here, in this small dark room on the top floor. I am still here. Another eternity passes, or maybe just a few minutes. The pain only recedes when my hands grab the glasses and put them back on my nose. Darkness fades away, and I see her again, my Mariella. We are together again, so close and yet so far. But this time, I refuse to be just a mere Observer. One awkward movement and all my papers fall onto the ground; another one, and I dive into the blue glow of my screens. And here I am, the Street greeting me in all its gray glory. Teleportation turns out to be much easier than analyzing components of this action in theory. All it takes is determination and some basic understanding of the space-time continuum. “Please, blink just once,” I say, as I am approaching her, slowly going forward step by step, to my dear Mariella. “Mariella,” I exhale her name, staring into her foggy eyes. My fingers entwine around her palm, gently scratching her cold skin. Let me look at you. I gaze at her. She looks back at me, but she doesn’t react at all, she still doesn’t blink at all. Her current state shatters my heavily beating heart. I can’t let go of her hand, can’t take my eyes off her. Let me be with you. Perhaps I just imagined it, but in her misty eyes, there was a fleeting sense of understanding? Whatever it was, it was enough for me to take her by the shoulders, pull her towards me and embrace her. I love you. End of Entry #5