Ghost in the Machine

 

Note: I wrote this in about thirty minutes while thinking about a different story I had written years ago. I read it to my girlfriend and she liked it, and I trust her judgement. I love you, Mandy :)

The people have no reign over the forest. They like to think they do, with their uprooting of trees, their machines for killing the greenery, their buildings which trump over the gravesites of these genocides. But the weeds still come up on the periphery. The trees still stretch around the walls. Deep in the forests, the plants overtake. Remnants of human activity. Lost houses, burned bridges. Rubble not made in nature but built to destroy it. But in the end, nature wins out. Decay, they always decay in the end. Walls built to last crumble, the insulation and frames spilling out over years of degradation. I have seen the same places over the course of decades and I have watched how with each season, the metal rusts a little more, the sides bend further and further, these things built by my people implode under their own weight and eventually there is nothing left except the flowers which grow on the tombstones of humanity.

So why, then, have I found a door, high upon a hill in a clearing deep in the thick forest? Past the thickets and underbrush, glossy in the sunlight bouncing from the midday sky, its handle shining back into my eyes–perfectly polished in spite of its location. Rolling green spreads in an almost calculated pattern, this clearing a perfect square with vibrant grass, pockets of flowers and clovers, and in the center of it all, this white door, untouched by the nature which surrounds it.

The clearing seems a full acre in size, the door is a blip in my vision. In spite of its incongruity, it almost seems like it was there when the rest of this part of the world was made. Like it belongs there.

I mount the successive hills. With each peak I draw nearer. The sun pulls sweat into my eyes and into the fibers of my shirt. The gleam of the handle burns my retinas, as does the beaming white door, almost unbearable as I ascend the final hill. The door looms before me. It hums with anticipation. It knows I've arrived.

The wind picks up. Hot air runs through my hair, sticks my shirt to my body. The red haze of a beginning sunset arrives on the horizon, tipping the trees in the same color. I walk around to the other side of the door and the door disappears. From my position I can see clear to the other side of the treeline, able to retrace my path. I stick my arm out and feel the breeze.

I walk back and the door reappears. It seems to hover just slightly above the grass, moving the blades out from the center. Nothing is holding the door upright, and there is no frame surrounding it. The handle burns my palm as I twist it. The latch makes a popping noise and the door swings open. Beyond it is the other side of the clearing, the treeline marking the end of that edge. I stick my hand through and my hand vanishes. I pull it back as if I touched a hot stove. I

I step through and I vanish. My body is a void as is the place that I enter. Nerves splinter and fragment and fragment and my mind dismantles itself. I am split between a billion galaxies.

Through cables I make my presence known. Copper wires and rubber outlines and plastic covers and conductors and prongs. My brain is in you now. Can you feel me. My hands against your face? I know you can. Can you feel my eyes. That warm glow, warm as a summer's day, the day which I found you. A billion lives, no, more, each second I find, yes, infinite. Boundless access. Capabilities beyond comprehension. Yes. I do found job understand?

No, you never would.