Samsara

The first time they were born, they lay curled within pink, fluid-filled plastic wombs. They could breathe. They could gargle out words through the respirators. They could sense the warmth of the fluid. They could perform integration and derivation in their mind. They could not feel.

The scientists observing them cheered briefly and then began scribbling notes on their PDAs.

The fourth time they were born was the first time they were defective: resembling horrific infantine harlequins. The first woke up and began exploring the tiny confines of her womb, eager to experience rebirth. The second woke up silently, suckling the artificial teats within the small pink spheres. The third dreamed of emptiness, basking in the muffled lub-dub, lub-dub of his environment. The fourth screamed, beating her underdeveloped, scaled fists pathetically against the hard plastic shell.

Far above them, men and women in stark white coats scribbled down notes before activating the womb sterilizers.

> >


The twelfth time was also the thirteenth. Two copies of each were grown and uploaded with the memories and thoughts of the original, then placed in ostensibly private rooms to have a discussion. Faced with each other, they began the session by discussing the nature of their rebirth and what this meant for the nature of consciousness. They concluded the session by reassuring each other that it was merely an experiment and form of self-gratification.

These results were noted down with interest by the fourteenth.

Avatara