Maria
The clinking of the coffee cup rang out into the hollow. My mother told me he stood at the kitchen counter, lost in thought, stirring. The coffee’s aroma wafted through the air like a bittersweet symphony, each note a blend of past happiness and present grief, intertwining with the silence that encased his thoughts. He turned towards the living room, a soft smile playing on his lips, but as he looked up, his heart stopped and the porcelain shattered.
Seven days earlier…
My fingers slipped slowly over the glass surface of my holographic phone, my heart racing each time a notification pinged. I remember the room bathing in the soft luminescence of the morning sun and the disbelief everytime I saw another like, hoping to get noticed. I spent so much time curating my social media feed, a mosaic of my best moments. Each image, every post, carefully chosen, idealised.
My mother’s voice, gentle but firm ruptured my bubble: “Maria, could you help set the table?”.
“Just a minute, Mom!” I replied, not bothering to look up. My thumb scrolled through comments, seeking validation, craving the affirmation that came with each heart icon.
Suddenly, the door swung open. My father, David, stood there, a look of concern etched on his face. “Maria, your mother and I need you to be more present. University’s starting soon, and we won’t always be here to guide you.”
I rolled my eyes, frustration bubbling to the surface. “You just don’t get it, Dad. This is my life now. I have everything planned out. I’ll be able to do things my way.” My words, sharp and dismissive, hung in the air.
In the background, the AI assistant buzzed with updates on the latest technological advancements, but I paid it no mind. I was too engrossed in her own virtual world to notice the subtle hints of an impending change.
My parents’ earlier conversation echoed faintly in my mind. A wave of doubt washed over me: “They just don’t get it”.
My mother knocked gently on my door, breaking the solitude. “Dinner’s ready, Maria. Come join us.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I replied, irritated. As the door clicked shut, frustration welled up inside me. My relationship with my parents felt strained, a chasm growing wider with each dismissive remark and ignored piece of advice. They couldn’t see the pressure I felt, the fear of not being good enough.
I closed my eyes, momentarily overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions. The need for validation, the struggle to appear confident, the strained ties with my family—all swirled in a chaotic dance within my mind. For a brief moment, I considered confiding in my parents, seeking their warmth and wisdom. But pride held my back.
With a deep sigh, I resumed scrolling, my mind a battlefield of self-doubt and unspoken fears. I longed for connection, yet pushed away the very people who could offer me genuine support.
As I drifted into sleep, my subconscious wove an intricate dreamscape. I stood on the stage of a grand auditorium, the spotlight illuminating my glittering graduation gown. The audience was a sea of familiar faces—my friends, her parents, even my AI assistant. I basked in their applause, my heart swelling with pride and vindication.
Suddenly, the scene shifted. The auditorium crumbled into darkness, replaced by a cold, sterile room. Glistening wires snaked around me, and I found myself trapped inside a glass cylinder. The faces of my friends and family appeared on screens around me, their expressions vacant and pixelated.
A young girl, the one from the news broadcast, emerged from the shadows. Her eyes bore into mine, filled with a haunting emptiness. “Do you understand now?” the girl asked, her voice echoing through the void. I tried to reach out, but my hand passed through the glass, unable to grasp.
The dreamscape twisted again, this time placing me in a deserted street. The self-driving car from earlier careened towards her, its headlights blinding.
I woke with a start, my heart pounding. The dream lingered, its images seared into my mind. For the first time, I questioned the path I had so confidently set for myself. The chill from the dream clung to me, a reminder that not everything was within her control.
Proaction: The morning sun cast a golden hue over my pristine neighborhood, but inside my home, tension simmered. My parents’ concerned voices echoed through the corridors as they tried to reason with me. My heated retorts, sharp and dismissive, bounced off the walls. It was time to begin the journey to university.
The neighborhood, usually a paragon of technological harmony, seemed slightly off-kilter today. An errant drone buzzed too close, and a self-driving car’s low hum seemed more aggressive, almost predatory. Engrossed in my screen, I paid no heed, my gaze locked on the latest social media update.
As my family drove through the streets, a sudden, loud honk shattered the air—
—and then there was chaos. Flashes of twisted metal, the screech of tires, and a deafening silence. My vision blurred, then darkened.
I float above the scene, a spectral observer. My body lay lifeless on the pavement, a broken doll in a perfect suburb now marred by catastrophe. Sirens wailed, and neighbors gathered, their faces masks of horror and disbelief.
My father emerged from the wreckage first, pulling my mother out, their hearts pounding in sync with the ticking clock of fate. In the sterile, cold hospital room, doctors worked frantically, but the prognosis was grim. My brain activity was fading—the seconds counted down like the last grains of sand in an hourglass.
My parents were torn, their minds racing. The option of mind-uploading loomed over them, a beacon of hope yet a chasm of ethical uncertainty. “She could have a second chance,” a doctor urged, “but you must decide now. We have less than five minutes.”
“Life,” my father’s voice echoed in my fading consciousness, “is more fragile than we understand, and more precious than we realize.”
My mother clenched his hand, tears streaming down her face. They locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. The room buzzed with urgency, medical machines beeping in a dissonant symphony.
“Is this what Maria would want?” my father questioned, his voice choked with anguish. “Are we playing God?”
The seconds slipped away. My mother recalled a flashback of me, so full of life and dreams, yet so disconnected from the deeper truths of existence. They had always hoped I would find meaning beyond the screens and superficiality.
“We give her a second chance,” she whispered, “but it will be a new life, a rebirth. She will learn what it means to truly live.”
A nod from my father sealed the decision.
Seven days later, I walk back into my home.
“Maria?” my mother whispered, voice cracking under the weight of uncertainty.
My new eyes, illuminated with artificial life, scanned the room.
My father cleared his throat, attempting to bridge the chasm that had formed between us.
As I navigated this new existence, a realization dawned upon me.
My parents exchanged
