My name is Harper and in six months I am going to die.

I know this because I paid for the privilege. You can do testing for anything nowadays, and apparently your expiration date is one of them.

I had money to spare, I was bored, and yes, I foolishly thought the test would tell me some distant faraway age like eighty-two or maybe even one hundred and two. When I found out my expiry date was in six months, I began to have a really, really bad case of buyer’s remorse.

I went through quite a lengthy denial period, where I thought I could go through the rest of my life pretending that if I just do things exactly the same way and not change anything I would conveniently forget and everything would be fine and dandy. (This was by far my favorite coping mechanism. But it didn’t last. Eventually my anxiety bubbled up and exploded like a shaken champagne bottle.)

Next came an obsessive, defiant, planning phase. Everyday I would think of elaborate plans to avoid death like I could somehow scheme my way out of it. I mean, theoretically, it seems doable. Plane crash? Don’t go on a plane. Car accident? Just stay home all week. Heck, heart attack? Pop three baby aspirins and hang out in the hospital lobby, right next to the crash cart ready to wave a big sign that says “I’m having a heart attack.” Unfortunately the test didn’t provide the cause of death, just the exact time, so I couldn’t really plan in specifics.

Eventually all the planning became incredibly exhausting and I settled into a kind of defeated acceptance. My plan was still not to actively put myself in a situation where I could die, I was not quite ready to submit to my annihilation, but if I somehow still find myself in that situation anyway, I figured I should really work on trying to be okay with that.

So then I commenced on a hedonistic three months where I blew half of my life savings and did literally anything I could think of. I ziplined through the forests of Peru, skydived over the French countryside, drank the best wines and indulged in rich Italian food, snorkeled off the shores of Bali, shopped with abandon while perusing the streets of Tokyo, London, Dubai…

You get the idea.

The most pathetic part of this whole thing was that I didn’t have a family to spend my last few days with. Or close friends, really. My impending death would not be filled with earnest mourning and last minute tearful proclamations of love and reminiscing. Oh sure, my funeral would be packed, but nobody would miss me, not really. As an orphaned twenty-two year old who inherited too much money at an early age, not only was I kind of an entitled asshole, I also haven’t really lived yet. I haven’t fallen in love or had kids, wrote that great American novel, won a Pulitzer, or experienced any of that syrupy sweet stuff life is supposedly made of.

Anyway, that’s why I’m hanging out in the hospice ward.

My friend here is Lucas. He is twenty-nine and has end stage heart failure from hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. He described it as his heart being too big - literally but I suspect it's also an accurate description of him figuratively. I befriended him five months ago when I found out I was going to die. And no, surprisingly, he does not have any wisdom to impart about acceptance and healing and the meaning of life. He is very not okay with his young, awesome life being cut short, thank you very much.

He did have some useful information for me though.

“It’s quite experimental.” Lucas warned in an ominous tone.

“Obviously.”

“They usually only accept terminal patients… you know, because of the ethical issues.” He eyed me warily. “But in your case, they made an exception.”

He was adorable. He said that last line like a late night infomercial. Or maybe a used car salesman.

“This is not some elaborate black market scam to harvest my organs, is it?” I raise an eyebrow at him. “I mean, no offense, but you look like you could use a new heart.”

Lucas had to grab his oxygen mask after laughing so hard at that one. The nurse at the station gave me a dirty look.

After Lucas recovered he looked me in the eye. “How much do you have left?”

“Time? Or money?” I joked. The look on his face was not amused. I cleared my throat. “One month. And as you know, money is not an object.”

“Well, one month can give you… at least eighty years in virtual time. So pretty much a whole lifetime, if you decide on it.” Lucas shrugged. “Once you jack in though, there’s no going back. Your clock will end as scheduled and that’s the only way out. Also, it’s totally immersive, so you won’t even know you’re in virtual. It will be like… you’re in a dream but you don’t know you’re in a dream.”

“So I would really believe everything was real? Like I would grow up to be ninety years old and I would actually think I lived all those years even though really it will only be one month?”

“Mostly, yes.”

“How many of the other people will be real?”

“Most will be computer generated. You might meet some real ones, if they are in the same time dilation settings as you. There are very few people with the resources for a whole month, you know. Most people can only afford one day.”

“So there’s a chance that I will marry a program?” I furrowed my brows. “And then if we have kids, they will also be programs?”

Lucas cocked an eyebrow. “There’s a high chance, statistically. Like I said, there’s only a few real participants at any given time. Not that it would matter to you, you won’t know the difference.”

I thought about this. Would it really bother me if I didn’t know? I bet my computer generated kids would be adorable.

His expression suddenly turned serious. “There’s something else. It’s rare, but there are a few cases of people noticing little things not quite right and they become increasingly convinced they’re in a simulation. Which of course is true, but when you’re jacked in and you’re not completely sure if you’re crazy or just being paranoid, it can be terrifying. They call it Simulation Induced Paranoia, or SIP.” He paused. “Participants become really…. distressed.”

I chewed on this for a second. “I still want to do it.”

He looked surprised. “Really?”

“I really don’t have anything to lose.” I replied nonchalantly, like I just decided on a dinner entree. I should probably be alarmed that I was acting so cavalier. Lucas wasn’t exactly giving a stellar sales pitch. Then again, it was true, I really had nothing left to lose. I’ve done what I could with my twenty-two years. Might as well have another lifetime to try again.

Lucas stared at me for a moment then sighed. “That’s the thing. The longer you’re in virtual, the higher the chance you might experience SIP. Remember, Harper, a month is a lifetime. The chances are very low of course - less than 1%, the virtual worlds are very meticulously programmed after all. But if you experience SIP, there’s no cure, no safe word, you’re stuck until your clock runs out.”

“I already decided.” I said resolutely. Once I’ve made up my mind on something I was usually unshakable. It was one of my many flaws. “In fact, let’s do it tonight. I want to get my whole lifetime, not a year less.”

—

Everything was too bright, the sounds too loud. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t. Jacking in was a very jarring process, it felt as if all my neurons were firing up all at once. Somehow I felt tremendous pain and the heights of delirious ecstasy simultaneously. Like I was feeling every possible thing all at the same time. There was a terrifying moment when everything went black, and for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few seconds, I truly wholeheartedly believed I was actively dying.

Maybe I was supposed to die on the table during the procedure. Or maybe I really did unwittingly offer to have my organs harvested for the black market. Damn it, I probably caused my own death in my extreme efforts to avoid it...

I blinked twice. The room slowly came into focus.

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” A familiar voice.

It was Lucas. But also, it was not Lucas. He did not have his portable oxygen tank close by. His lips did not have their usual bluish tint. He looked… healthy.

Everything came back to me at once.

“Oh shit, Lucas. That was nuts.” I shook my head, clearing the cobwebs. “That felt too real. I really felt like I was in there for twenty-two years.” I checked my watch. I’ve only been in Virtual for twenty-two minutes.

He chuckled, swiveling back and forth on the expensive office chair I bought him for Christmas last year. My boyfriend never could sit still. “You’re a champ, Harper, you were the one who wanted to push the time dilation to a year per minute. I was worried pushing it that far would compromise the world building, but your mind was amazing at meeting the program halfway to fill in the gaps. You made yourself a rich orphan, really? Money is no object? Hah!”

I disconnected my neurojack from the surgically implanted access port behind my right ear. That rich orphan stuff was my subconscious free at the wheel. I didn’t intentionally decide on it. I turned back to Lucas. “Why did you add all that stuff about Virtual in there, and SIP? Don’t you think that was a little too… meta?”

Lucas suddenly broke into that grin that melted my heart so many years ago when we met during undergrad at MIT. “Well, since you wanted to put the expiry dates into the program so people would know how much time they had left, I thought, what the heck, why not make it interesting? Why not make a virtual game in Virtual?”

I was not amused. Lucas had a penchant for bloated code and unnecessary side doors. Also, for not telling me about an adjustment until after he has done it. “That’s messed up. You should have run that by me. The expiry date was a suggestion from the beta testers and we all agreed on it. We didn’t agree on putting the game into the Virtual Universe as a side door..” I paused. “Also, what if I didn’t jack in? I would have died in a car accident or something?”

Lucas turned back to his computer and typed a few lines of code. “I had carbon monoxide poisoning ready to go, but I was prepared to improvise. And anyway, I didn’t actually think you would gravitate towards the game during the beta test, I just put it in there as an Easter egg of sorts. I figured most clients would only think about jacking in when they were close to their expiry dates, if they do at all. But on second thought, maybe I should take it out of the programming, it’s too much work to keep up.”

I jumped off the table and stretched my legs. My entire body felt stiff like I haven’t used it for months. “Yea, take it out. You’ll have enough work as it is when we start accepting our first commercial clients next week. We have four people scheduled on our first day which I already think is too much.”

“We’ll be fine.” Lucas was now typing more purposefully. “That reminds me, I need to finish debugging this before Monday. Do you mind picking up dinner?”

“Sure.. from that new Thai place again?”

“Sounds good.”

I smiled as I gave Lucas a quick peck on the cheek before I grabbed my purse to pick up the take out. Everything was going well for our start up. It was hard to believe that only two years ago Lucas and I were broke PhD dropouts who took a leap of faith building Virtual from our one bedroom Boston apartment. And now… well, let’s just say our first official month in business is projected to generate six figures in profits even after subtracting overhead. Mid six figures. And as soon as we open up our second and third facilities the growth would be exponential.

To top it all off, I was pretty sure Lucas was planning on proposing to me next week on my birthday. I saw a charge from some jewelry company on his credit card statement while I was doing some filing last month. Judging from the amount, it could only be an engagement ring. Lucas never would have spent that much on a piece of jewelry otherwise.

I sauntered out of the elevator from our high rise office with a pep in my step. The weather outside was just the right amount of sunny. Even the Boston air didn’t feel as suffocatingly polluted. Yes, everything was going well. Perfect, even. I eyed a meticulously trimmed bush suspiciously as I walked by. Maybe too perfect.

I felt a sudden stab of panic. The smile dissipated from my face.

Oh no.

Baby, I knew the taste of your lips before I even knew your full name

And I can still feel your fingertips,

Like phantom touches on my arm,

I can still feel the cold cement of the wall.

As you used it to press me against you,

Caught between a literal rock and a hard place if you will.

God, I can still see your face

Your dark eyes,

Made deeper with desire

Like two abyss' that illustrated your burning fire

And your rosy lips,

Full and plump.

Bruised from my abuse

Make out sessions always seemed to escalate between me and you.

I still feel the scruff of your beard,

As you placed kisses down my neck,

Feel the heaving of my chest

As you towered over me,

Nipping and biting my flesh.

As you dug your nails into my soft skin,

Leaving a mark, so people would know "She's his"

I traced small circles on your collar bone

The only part of your caramel skin you let show

And I trailed my hands up so that they were cupping your face

But you pulled them away.

You always liked when I was pinned,

Said my arms got in the way.

So I watched as your hands swallowed mine

A serious look on your face

I still smell your cologne

Its scent is embedded in my skin,

Still fell the love marks you left me with

I still hear your moans,

As you touched me.

My voice quivering with every kiss

Your voice darkened with lust,

As your hands roamed down, grasping my butt.

I remember your words bouncing off the walls,

An echo of all the things you wanted to be done.

You always did say stairwells were the most 'fun'.

Your hands went lower,

And I let out a shudder,

Trying to cover my face.

I remember being cold,

The stairwell was freezing,

But your hands were burning,

As you touched me all over the place

Scorching my skin

With your crimson fingertips

And I remember thinking the sharp contrast in our temperatures

Was just another way we were different.

Your hands ran up my thighs

And you expelled a wordless sigh

As I braced my head against the wall

You moved your hips slowly

My back arched unknowingly

And you took that as a 'go'

In one frantic motion, you had managed to undo my buttons and my pants

You took step back,

But I longed for you to be closer

A grin spread slowly across your face

“I have to say I like you better that way” you sighed, gesturing to me wild state.

My panties were peeking out, and my hair was all over

The straps of my bra falling over my shoulder.

You licked your lips,

Like a lion ready to pounce.

You moved the hair out of my face gently

Before roughly kissing me on the mouth

Your fingers began exploring

Playing the piano on my clit

As I took a sharp gasp with every nerve you hit.

You ran your tongue down my jawline

Dipping your head lower and lower

Until you were biting through my clothes.

Sucking the sensitive flesh exposed

I moaned your name,

Which tasted like honey on my lips

As every syllable danced across my tongue

You placed a hand on the wall

And even though our skin was touching it still felt like we were worlds apart.

I needed you closer

Needed you on top of me

Needed every square inch of our bodies to be touching

You pulled down the lace, with a forceful yank

And spun me around so we were no longer face to face

You pressed me into the wall,

The damp cement making my chest hard

As you covered your arms over mine and began to thrust

First slow,

Then rough

And before long we here huffing

Yelling each other's names,

You peppering kissing across my shoulder blades

And when it was all over I looked back to see you,

But your image began to fade

For you were just a memory

A mistake I had made,

And your vision remained

Every day since

Our last stolen stairway kiss

Ever noticed every rose I give you is thornless? There's a reason for this madness, the rose represents my love for you, carefully picked and de-thorned too. Its beauty withholds what I give. It tells a story, of the love I live. My love has no bounds. It comes to you without hidden surprises, no sharp Jagged edges or beautiful disguises. It's plain, but, it's pure and ready to endure an eternity loving you more and more.

Uknown Author/Poet/Artist ©

It’s kinda like rain

The sounds your mother makes

When she pleads for you never to leave her

When she softly screams in your ear

About why you should love her for what she did for you

About why it’s your responsibility to be with her

About how you matter to her more than anything

About how you deserve a mother in your life

About how she’s sorry, despite her not knowing for what

About how I shouldn’t let others make my decisions for me

At first it makes you shiver

The first time you hear your mother beg you for your love

But after awhile, it becomes white noise

You become indifferent

It’s hard to believe at first

The way the woman who gave birth to you’s tears fall

And maybe you notice a foggy window

Or how your hair’s a little frizzy

But it means nothing to you

You take no joy in it

But it doesn’t hurt you like it’s supposed to

It’s just there

Trickling into your ears

Watery and insubstantial

Making no claim on your conscience

Guilt is her weapon

So is fear

And rage

And kindness

And mercy

And ignorance

And trust

And deceit

And curiosity

And faith

She breaks you down with every tool she gave you

Once you realized it, your veins coursed with fury

An indignance too mature for your age

You realize how she kept you and your brothers and sisters in the dark

And she manipulated your father

The more you think about it, the more it seems like she tricked him

The hours he worked, his exhaustion every day

While she “taught” you like she was supposed to

She did whatever she wanted

While you fought and never learned

This was all I could think before I spoke to her that night

My parents never taught my brother to read

They never taught me to tie my shoes

They never cared what I did

I used to torture my siblings for fun

Because I didn’t know what else to do

There was nothing else to do

Alone with them all day

Every single day

Not a single wavering aspect

Never having contact with someone outside of your family

Never even going outside

Not a single one of us having friends

So we tortured each other

We did it out of necessity

It was fun to hurt them

And it was fun to be hurt by them

And it wasn’t playing, either

It was torture

It really was

And my parents didn’t care

My father too tired or too busy

My mother content with the chaos

I did things to my brother I’ll never repeat

And I saw him do things to my sisters that would bring most to tears

Each day was an eternity of suffering born of neglect

And they were all too young to remember

But not me

I remember every single day

What really strikes me looking back is how little my parents cared

I lost my virginity at 9 years old

A fact that haunts me every day

And they couldn’t have cared less

Because she was just fine with her easy little life

Once my father finally caught on, that’s when the pain really set in

When I really realized what was going on

My parents got a divorce

And my siblings and I were finally put back in school

My brother unable to read

My sisters having never interacted with another human being their age

Me having to grow up that instant

I went from not going to school from 1st through 6th grade

Being completely left behind in my education

To having 7th be my first experience in school

And when I went to talk to her

When I finally confronted her

She brushed every last word of my pain off

When my father finally moved out

And we were split finally

I was forced to do everything my mother wouldn’t

I realized what I’d done wrong

I realized what had been wrong

My malice reared its head

I knew she was wrong

Wrong for forcing me to take care of my siblings when she refused

Wrong for never giving me the chance to be normal

Wrong for never giving me the chance to be a kid

Wrong for never teaching me

Wrong for never taking the time to be my mother

And I still loved her

She was my mother after all

So I kept hearing in my head after she picked up the phone

I told about how I didn’t want to any more

And the lines in my forehead deepened

Lines too deep for a twelve year old kid

Her forced sobbing cut me deeper than I’d imagined

Emotions were just tools to her

Means to an end

Just like my father was

Her pride wouldn’t let me go

So she tried all she could

I can barely believe I didn’t surrender to her

It was only recently that I realized how much I hate her

I hate her for what she let me do

I hate her for never changing after these years since that night

I hate my mother

But I also know that she isn’t some villain

Some master manipulator like I thought before

She’s just pathetic and selfish and unaware

Which only makes me hate her even more

Because I see that same stupid face in the mirror every day

And when people ask I always tell them I don’t think about it

But I’m lying

It still dries my eyes out in the middle of the night

Her repulsive little voice still lives in my mind every day

Because I’m just as selfish and pathetic

And rambling about it just shows it:

I just want the attention, don’t I?

I’m just as bad as her

I’m sure that I’ll torture my children just as much

I’m just another batch of spoiled milk

Wasted potential

Just like her

Everything I said is just more white noise

Just more rain trickling in the background

Short

Falling

Fast

Falling

Totally

Falling

Hard

Falling

Madly

Falling

Deeply

Falling

Irrevocably

Falling

In love

I take a breath.

Painful, but necessary.

The shrilling cold air fills my lungs.

I watch every exhale.

A puff of fog fills the sky.

I never thought my life would unfold like this.

Then again, no one ever does.

-M

Their words linger

Stagnant, in the air

Suffocating

Love, trust; gone

In an instant

Leaving a crumbling statue

Of a family; now in ruins

They proclaim

It's Satan's work

Fixable, curable

A poison I refuse.

They say

I am too young,

Naive,

Still figuring things out,

I'll come around,

I'm just confused.

They swear this is true.

But I know better,

I know me.

I know my heart.

I know love.

And it ain't changin'.

They refuse me.

Say it's my choice

And I'm choosin' wrong.

That I ain't no child of theirs.

They raised a good boy

And a faggot ain't no good boy.

Lost for words I stutter

Looking for a rewind button

That doesn't exist

Or glue that can fix this

But I can't deny who I am

No matter how hard I try.

So I watch

It all fall apart

Before I walk away.

She picked at the frayed ends of her hair, loose sandy tendrils twining around her fingers in the breeze. The cigarette was mashed into a knot in the tree stump beside her, in the company of several others she couldn't remember smoking. She shut her eyes as she thrust her hands into the cool, damp grass under her knees. Took a slow, deliberate breath and exhaled. The sharp smell of smoke still burned her from the inside, familiar and foreign at once. This smoke was different, heavier.

She'd always enjoyed the smell of burning wood and cigarettes. But she loved the smell of extinguished flames the most.

She opened her eyes and blinked against the sting. She wanted to look at the smoldering ruins, burn the image into her mind. With one hand she wiped at her face, smudging ash across her cheek. With the other she reached for her jacket pocket and rubbed her thumb over the smooth metal of the lighter.