She wakes again and rolls off her sweat stained pillow to stare out at the world. It’s a dull, grey day again, light drizzle sneaking about the edges, picking off the unsuspecting, unsure whether to properly start up or not. Almost like the Boulevard. Almost, but not. Just similar enough to remind her of what she’s missing.
Time to get up. There’s no-one to argue with about it. She pushes her body up out of bed, leaving everything else behind there in the warmth to stay and dream and escape. Stands in the shower and waves back and forth with her eyes closed, trying to remember the feel of the rain on her shoulders, numb to the warmth. Got to go to work.
Stands and stares out the window of the train, leans out of the way when others try to push past her, but doesn’t make eye contact or acknowledge their presence. Zoned out.
No-one cares. Ex-users are everywhere on the trains now, eyes glazed over and out of it, lost somewhere in the past, in their heads, in a VR world, acting on autopilot. Some consider nudging past her again, just for the sensation, but something in the way she holds her body warns them off. A remembered strength.
At work her boss steps out of her way in the corridor, mentions the morning meeting but doesn’t wait for a reply. The work gets done, attitude isn’t that important. Besides, he has his own problems, his own dreams and fears.
She sits at her desk and spends seven and a half hours pretending to flick through code. What work she does is a relief. Logical, sharp and well defined, everything life isn’t. Too easy though, like a child’s jigsaw puzzle. Only the briefest flash of satisfaction flickers up once it’s all in place. Only an hour each day spent working. The rest, surfing through the various news channels and chat rooms, trying to soak up the world. But no matter how hard she tries to immerse herself this world simply doesn’t have the answers for her anymore. Her head never goes all the way under.
After work, sitting in a cinema again trying to escape, but spending most of the time staring at the back of the heads of the couples in front of her as they move together, lean into each other and touch. The screen is flat and two dimensional and the stories sprayed across it little better. No originality. No danger or thrill.
Then home again. Eat. Back to bed. Lying still and staring at the ceiling, waiting for this world to fade out and another take its place.
She no longer needs to plug herself in at night. Dreams and VR are merged so completely they can no longer be separated. Which one is which and why does it matter?
Cass can’t be sure when it was that she lost it. The accident would be the obvious answer, but she’s not so sure. It doesn’t rear up in her dreams anymore, VR anaesthetised that pain so completely, swamped it with images and plans and adventure and pushed it deep down into her. Buried everything.
And now it was gone. There was no longer anywhere else to go. What was the point of life without something to look forward to?
