Pixel Eyes

I remember nothing but flashes. Empty glimpses. Colours fading in and out. A sound, a whisper. Sometimes, if I focus hard enough, I can almost see a face.

I’ve been dead for over seventy years. I don’t remember who I was. The only thing I can seem to remember is a piece of jewelry. A necklace, I think. It had some sort of locket on it, shaped like a heart, painted the colour of the blood that must have surrounded me on the day I died.

All I know about myself is that I am dead. I wish I could know something else, anything else. What was my favourite food? Where did I spend the happiest times of my life? What were my passions, what were my dreams? Who did I give that heart-shaped locket to?

I used to think death would be peaceful. Maybe it was, at one time. Maybe at one time it was nothing but the light and the wind, but now, being dead is worse than any nightmare I could have ever dreamt.

I’ve lost track of the days. It seems I do the same thing every day. It seems the days all fade into one another.

Like every dead soul still left wandering the abyss, I work for The Grief Corporation. Roughly one hundred years ago, billionaire Roy Ford grew tired of being the world’s wealthiest tech mogul. Like any insatiate beast, his hunger only grew, and he saw dollar signs in the world’s darkest untapped market. The activists protested him, but the economists called him a genius, a visionary, a Messiah.

So here I am today, a soul, lost in this job. A soul, official property of Roy Ford and The Grief Corporation.

Mr. Ford is a smart businessman, though, I have to give him that. He knows what the consumer wants. He knows how to wrangle every lost drop of pain out of them, how to collect every tear. Every new customer gets five minutes free, how generous! But of course, that’s never enough. That’s only ever a tease. And they’ll pay however much it takes to have more. Grieving people will pay ridiculous amounts for what they think is closure. It seems as though money rules everything, even in death.

The Grief Corporation used to operate honestly, at the very least. Sure, it was still exploiting people’s loss for Mr. Ford’s fifth luxury ship, but it did allow people to actually talk to the loved ones they had lost. The Grief Corporation’s infamous Connection Centers actually featured the souls of the people customers came to talk to. But a few years after I joined, that became unsustainable.

Mr. Ford wanted us to be open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. And even though there are more dead people than there are living ones, we eventually ran out of souls to support his ambitions. The older souls, that had drifted along for thousands, even millions of years, faded away almost instantly. Some of the newer ones slipped away soon after. We were horribly overworked, and souls are not meant for this.

After a while, the remaining souls had to pick up the slack. I started pretending to be the souls of other people. It’s probably been at least five decades since I’ve talked to anyone who has come to see me, anyone who knew me in real life. Now I spend my days watching the tears of people I never knew. I spend my days pretending to be their father, their sister, their best friend, their child, their lover. I have become one million souls.

I watch them through a screen, my only glimpse of the real world being through a computer. Then I return to the void, to some empty nothingness between soulless code and paradise, until my next shift. I have no eyes. I have no body. And as the days stretch longer, I can feel myself going – soon, I will have no more soul. Soon, it will have withered away, lost in the machines of labour. Trapped somewhere in the pain of the millions of customers I have helped to exploit. I hope one day I’ll see a light.

I can feel it. Today will be my last day. I have nothing left to give. I can barely remember which soul I once was. Maybe I am one of the souls I’m playing today? Maybe I am one of my countless roles? No, that can’t be right. I’m no one, I presume.

I feel myself being pulled in. Time for another shift. Time to play my roles. I am being dragged, I am being pulled. I approach the world of the computer, in all its digital wonder, in its rigid mathematic power. I am there, and through my pixel eyes in this artificial screen, I see a face. My first customer. All I see behind her are the same grey, dimly lit walls of the Connection Center that I see every day. I wish they’d put the computer outside. If they’re going to force me to look through the eyes of a machine, at least let me look at an artificial tree, or some birds.

I bring my attention back to my customer. I need to focus. If I work hard, I can maybe squeeze a few extra dollars out for Mr. Ford. I hear he wants to create the first ever community on our neighbouring planet! I have to give this my all to make it happen. I have to squeeze some extra money out of this woman, who isn’t wearing a coat despite the snow and the wind I see through that door behind her. This woman, who – Oh Ford, I recognize this woman. She comes by every week.

“Johnny?” I hear her ask, in a raspy voice. She sounds as though she may have a cold, or perhaps something far worse. “Is that you?” I pause for a moment. I try to push back the waves of fear and guilt I feel crashing onto the shores of my mind.

“Yes, it’s me.” I answer, trying to hide as much of myself as I can. I don’t know who Johnny is, but like any good performer, I become him.

“I’ve missed you.” She continues, before sniffing and wiping her nose. “I’m sick. I’m very sick.” I think I see tears forming now. The image is blurry, so it’s hard to tell. This must be an older computer. “I think I’ll be with you soon. Tell me, Johnny… is it nice over there?”

“Yes.” I answer, feeling myself flow for a moment. If I had a body, I know I’d have tears too. I feel my aura pulling away, but I have to finish the job. “It’s beautiful.”

“Good. Good, that’s good. I… I miss you. I know I already said that.” I hear her laughing. “I say that every time. I’m sorry about the house, I know how much you loved that place.”

“It’s okay, sweetie.”

“I just… when you died, I needed to talk to you, I’m sorry. And the house, it was… it just became so expensive. I don’t mind the cold outside though, and, and the hunger isn’t too bad. Mr. Ford’s Yummy Corporation became so expensive, and… I just needed to hold on to you. They gave me medicine, you know, for my - ” she says some type of medical condition, but her coughs make it hard to hear which one. Maybe she has that new disease that people are starting to get after eating Mr. Ford’s meat products. “ - but Mr. Ford charges so much for the medicine too, so… I just said, I know what I need. I need my Johnny. I just love talking to you so much. It’s the only thing that’s kept me going through all this. But I’m ready to rest now. I’m ready to be with you. I love you, Johnny. Thank you for being here for me.”

“Of course, sweetie. I love you too. I can’t wait to spend forever with you. I’ll see you soon.”

And just like that, the computer turns off.

I feel a very heavy weight on me, like some deep pain crushing down on my soul. Oh, Ford, help me. I’m dying again.

I try to rest for a moment, but I’m immediately pulled to a new computer.

No, I can’t do this.

I’m not strong enough. Not now. I need a moment.

I need to be left to die.

I need to see what’s next. I –

The computer whirs to life. My eyes become its camera. I adjust focus, shapes and colours slowly coming into being.

I see a man.

I see a man, and he’s beautiful.

I see a face, a face that looks like it has existed since the beginning of time. I see blue eyes, which remind me of the seas I would watch a lifetime ago. I see hair, golden and ethereal. I see a smile, so full of love, like I used to have.

“Hey, Tim.” He says, the tender smile still stuck on his face.

I try to follow protocol, I try to respond, but I am mesmerized. I continue to observe him.

I see wrinkles that tell the stories of decades past. I see a jacket that looks very old, perhaps from when he was a young man. I see a shirt with a band displayed on it. I don’t recognize them, they must be from after my time.

I see a heart. I see a necklace, as golden as the treasure of his hair. I see a locket, in the shape of a heart, crimson like a gorgeous rose.

I am paralyzed.

“Tim, you there babe?” I am startled back into remembering my job.

“Hey. It’s good to see you,” I respond, robotically. The man laughs.

“Oh my God. Tim, it’s good to hear from you man. Listen, I don’t have a lot of money. I’m sorry… but, you know how I feel about Roy Ford. I’m not going to come see you, I just wanted to say goodbye. It’s still so hard to think, that after being married all those years, it’s been a whole week since you’re gone. The apartment feels empty without you. But I’m moving on. I have to move on. I just want you to know, that I love you. I’ll always love you, and I’ll always remember you. Thank you for all the good times.” He looks down, I see he’s hiding some watery eyes. In doing so, he catches a glimpse of the locket. He laughs. “Hey, you remember this thing? You remember how silly you always thought this was? Well, someone very special to me gave me this. I’ve always used this to remember them, but now, I’m going to remember you with it too. Okay, well, I should go now, before you see me cry. I love you, Tim.”

Before I can say anything, the computer is dead. I can feel myself being pulled somewhere I have never been pulled before, so I know I am dead too. Dead for real, this time, I hope.

Maybe he was the face, the face I always came so close to seeing. Or maybe he was no one. The days all seem the same over here. I’m pretty sure it’s been seventy years. Maybe it’s been thousands. Maybe it’s only been about five. Maybe it only felt like decades. Oh good Ford, I hope it hasn’t been only five years. I hope I get to see something else, one day.

I can hope it was him. I can believe it was him. I can know that he got to say goodbye. I can know I was remembered. I can be myself, and I can be Tim. I can be a locket.

I feel light. I feel wind. I feel nothing.