story2

Claire Madison stood at cold, metallic casket and looked down at the body held within.  Mark's sharp brown eyes were hidden behind his eyelids, closed softly.  His short blond hair split slightly to one side, just as it had when he awoke each morning.  Claire kept her vision firmly locked on Mark's face.  She could imagine what he looked like below the neckline, and decided it was an image she wanted to avoid.  At least above his shoulders, Mark looked exactly as he did the day before, save for stitches on his forehead where the incision had been made.  Claire thought to herself that, if she didn't know any better, she'd easily mistake him for having fallen asleep.

The dead giveaway, she conceeded, was the coffin that enveloped Mark's body.  Like most, the coffin was dull, grey, and featureless.  Only the extremely wealthy or the extremely vain used the ornate wooden coffins that had been used centuries ago, back before wood was scare.  Aluminum was cheap Claire had reasoned, and she never considered herself one for vanity anyway.  As far as Claire was concerned, Mark wouldn't look nice in wood anyway.

Suddenly, Claire felt a hand on her shoulder.  She swiveled around and met the familiar mechanical red eyes of a Golem.

"May I get you a drink, Ms. Madison?"  The Golem politely asked.  This particular Golem was male, and quite tall.

"No thank you." Claire responded flatly.  She tried to turn back to the body, but the moment was already ruined.

Claire's mother approached her.  "I'm sorry for your loss." Claire's mother asked.  It was the same mechanical way everyone had said that to her that day.  Claire had had enough of their ritualistic concern.  Mark would've been different, she thought to herself.  "I saw you were looking at the body for quite a long time."

Claire was frustrated.  "I would've been looking longer, but a Golem interrupted me."

"I'm sorry to hear that darling," her mother responded. "You have to understand, they're imperfect.  I know it's frustrating, but think of all the improvements they've brought to our lives.  A little emotional awkwardness is certainly worth that, in my eyes at least."

"I know," Claire admitted.  Her mother was always supporting the Golems.  Claire had always thought her mom to be short sighted in that regard.



Even just at the start of the week, Mark was still alive.  It was a Monday morning.  Claire was sitting in the living room, reading a book as she usually did, waiting for Mark to return from his job.  He'd walk in at 5:25pm, every single day, like clockwork.  Claire worked too, of course, but she usually got back just after 5, allowing her the joy of waiting for Mark to come home.  She thought it might be silly, but Claire really liked waiting for Mark.  It gave her purpose.

Sure enough, just as the minute hand ticked over the large number 5, the door exploded open with remarkable gusto.  Claire couldn't help but giggle quietly to herself.  Every day was the same with him, she thought.

"Hello!" Mark bellowed unintentionally, not loud enough to be shouting, but certainly loud enough to be uncomfortable.  Claire smiled overjoyed that Mark had returned.

Mark flew into the room, neither walking nor running, before plopping down onto his armchair triumphantly.  Every day was the same with him, but Claire didn't mind.  Mark's blind enthusiasm was respectable in its own right, and Claire though it was okay to smile and laugh along with him.

"How was your day at work sweetie?" Mark asked.  Claire always found it adorable that he rubbed the underside of his lip with his thumb while he was thinking.

"The same as usual: Exhausting but rewarding."  Claire worked at a daycare.  She probably would get paid more if she became an elementary school teacher, but she always prefered working with littler kids.  "The kids were playing house and all the girls were fighting over which one of them got to marry Billy."

Mark laughed louder than he probably should have at Claire's remark, but Claire didn't mind.  She loved how exaggerated he was in everything he did.  In a way, Claire realized, he reminded her of the kids she worked with.  Everything Mark did felt pure, genuine, real in a way no one else seemed.  She relaxed into their meaningless small-talk and enjoyed the company.  They spent the evening as they usually did.  She and Mark shared a cup of coffee, played a few board games, read and talked before turning in for the night.  It was a simple life, but Claire always appreciated that it was.

The next day, Claire sat in the living room once again.  The clock ticked to 5:25.  Then 5:26.  It got all the way to 5:34 before anything changed, a ringtone from her smartphone.  If it was something at least a little more extravagant, Claire thought she might have took it better.  Maybe the office had caught on fire, and Mark died during a tense and daring escape.  Maybe he was stabbed trying to escape from a mugging.  Maybe just a drunk driver who ran a red light, one now regretting and atoning for his actions.  Certainly, Claire had told herself, Mark was always extravagant, both in life and in death.

A self-driving car was heading west and glare obscured the camera's vision.  The AI tried to brake, but it was too late.  Just like that, Mark was gone.  The death by self-driving car in years, the police officer explained.  His death, a statistical outlier.  No ceremony, no remorse.  Gone.




An obnoxious vibration woke Claire deep into the afternoon on Friday, the day after the funeral.  It was a number she didn't recognize.  She silenced her phone and returned to sleep.

She awoke after another hour or so to a banging on her door.  Reluctantly, Claire, stood up and opened the door.  A tall, sly man stood facing her with an air of importance around him.  His suit was a deep, dark black; so dominating a shade that Claire swore that the room darkened when he entered, his suit sucking the light from her surroundings.

"Hello Ms. Madison.  Your mother contacted me, she thought I might be able to help you with Mark," the man said.  "I represent a psychological research group that provides a new technology you might be interested in."  Though she thought her mother was basic at times, Claire's mother was a good person, and Claire decided she wouldn't have brought this man to her without reason.  Regardless, since the man she'd never met before knew her name and Mark's, it was clear he had actually spoke with her.  Claire was suspicious, but decided it didn't hurt to hear what the man had to say.

"You really were quite lucky with Mark's death," the man continued.  "I'm sure you know, but his brain was mostly unharmed."

Claire frowned.  She'd already recieved the same explanation before, from the doctors that operated on Mark.  Technology wasn't quite there yet, they'd said to her, but it wasn't inconceivable that researchers would "pin down" consciousness before the end of her life.  With the brain in tact, they said, they might be able to bring Mark back someday.

"I have heard," she responded cautiously, "but I was told they wouldn't be able to bring him back for at least another 50 years."

"We can't," the man stated flatly.

"Then why-"

"We have not yet uncovered the nature of consciousness," the man interrupted, "But we have discovered the nature of something equally important.  Memory."

Claire remained silent.

"You've seen Golems, right?" The man inquired.  "Do you know how they work?"

"No, I don't."

"Their central programming is based on a highly complicated neural network.  We show them thousands of hours of videos, say of waiters taking drink orders.  They watch, and train themselves to mimic the videos as perfectly as possible.  We have discovered exactly where memory is stored in the brain, and can extract them better than the person themselves can."

The man paused briefly.

"My group has set out to answer one simple question.  What would happen, if we train a Golem on a person's memories?"

"I-  I'm not sure if I want this."

"Mark's parents have already signed the consent forms.  We've already placed a Golem in virtual reality, living out Mark's memories.  Your mom just asked us to offer you the chance to speak to him again.  She thought it would help you with the grief."

Claire had no idea to react.  She sat down and tried to calm herself and make sense of what the man just told her.  Suddenly, she felt one question trying to escape from her throat.

"Is it.. Mark?"

The man's blunt response shook her.  "No.  It's a black box trained to respond to questions as Mark would.  It's a ghost of his memories, nothing more."

The man explained to her that they'd be finished training the robot over the weekend and he could return with it on Monday, if she wanted.  He handed Claire a business card, excused himself, and left Claire's apartment.




Monday came faster than Claire was prepared for.  The man had told Claire he would arrive Monday evening around 5:30, so she was waiting in the living room in anticipation.  Just as the clock changed to 5:25pm, the door violently exploded open.  Claire's face ran white.  Standing in front of her was a tall, handsome man with blond hair, followed shortly behind by the one in the black suit.

Not seconds after the man entered, uncomfortable clamour filled the room.  "Hello!" it roared.  Claire started to feel nauseous.

"Hello Claire," the man standing behind said.  "I'd like to introduce you to Marc."

Marc skittered across the room, neither walking nor running, and slammed itself down on Claire's armchair in a confident, intimidating manner.  Claire, was horrified.  The gait, the demeanor, everything was absolutely identical.  Everything, except of course, the mechanical red eyes.

The man in the black suit quickly entered the living room and elegantly sat on an available stool.  "Go ahead," he said encouragingly.

"H- Hi Marc." Claire spoke sheepishly.

"Hey sweetie!" Marc responded cheerfully.

"Do you-  do you remember what happened." Claire asked.

"Well, I was driving back home from work Monday evening.  And the last thing I remember was this big crash.  The next thing I know, I'm in the hospital, and this extremely professional man is telling me he'll take me to see you."

Claire turned to the man in the black suit.  He had a notepad out and seemed to be writing furiously.  "Does it know?" Claire asked him.

"He does."

Claire turned to Marc, with a bit more confidence this time.  "So, they've told you what you are?"

"Honestly, I don't really understand it.  I think I believe them.  But it's just, so sudden, I don't know what to make of it yet."  Marc looked sad, or at least like he was thinking quite hard about this.  Claire saw Marc rubbing its lower lip with its thumb.

The man in the black suit's cellphone rang.  Looking surprised, he excused himself and left to the hallway.

"I think," Marc continued, seeming to have come to a resolution.  "I think this is a good thing.  I mean, after all, if it weren't for this, I would have died."

"Would have died?" Claire said.  She didn't know why, but she was frustrated with that remark.  "Marc, you are dead."

Marc looked confused.  "I'm not dead," it said bluntly.  "I'm definitely alive."

"No." Claire responded.  "You're not.  You're a Golem.  You walk like him, you talk like him, you look like him.  But you couldn't be more different."  Claire felt herself getting angry.  Not only did a Golem interrupt her last moments with Mark, but now they've brought another one to her pretending to be him.  "You're nothing more than a broken anamatronic."

Mark looked extremely hurt.  Claire turned away; it was difficult for her to see a face she loved look like that.  "Claire, listen to me.  I know I'm just a Golem, but I'm more than that.  I have all of Mark's- of my memories.  I know I seem different, but it's still me in here Claire." it continued,

"I still love you."

Claire felt her voice raising.  "You know," she began.  "You know why I loved you?  Because you were real.  You were real and no one and nothing else was anymore.  But that's changed.  You're not real anymore, no matter what you say."  "They've turned you into a pathetic pile of metal and wires with a brain of programming and reflexes.  They've sabatoged everything sacred.  You may love me.  But I will never love you again."

Marc tried to look away.  He tried to hide it, but Claire could see it.  His red eyes blurred with tears.

It was too much for Claire.  She stood, ran into her bedroom, and locked the door behind her, vowing to never again face the world outside her walls.



Claire regained consciousness in a hospital bed.  She had to squint at her surroundings.  Everything was a fluorescent white, except for one black splot to the right of her vision.

"I'm afraid that's where the story ends Claire," the man in the black suit said.

"Where am I?" Claire asked.

"The loss of Mark was too much for you to bear," He continued, not caring to answer her question.  "You went into your bedroom, you locked the door.  You went to the bathroom, found a bottle of pills, and just like that, you were gone."

Claire was confused.  "What are you saying?"

"Your mom was devastated, not only with the loss of Mark but now with the loss of her only daughter, you.  She was heartbroken, but she knew one way she could get you back."

Claire realized.  "No..."

The man in the black suit handed Claire a mirror.  Staring back at her were two menacing red eyes.

Claire fell silent and thought for several minutes.  Finally she turned to the man and spoke.  "You guys, you can control memories right?"

The man paused breifly.  "We can."

"Delete them.  All of them.  Everything from the past week."

The man thought for a moment.  "Alright."



Klaire awoke at 7:15am laying next to her fiancé, as she did everyday.  Marc lay in the bed next to her, sleeping furiously.  His hair was parted to one side, which Klaire always thought was cute.  She shook him awake.

"Wake up sleepyhead!" she announced as she shook him awake.  Even now, years later, Marc still slept through the alarm every day.  Klaire smiled at his innocence.

"I'm up, I'm up," Marc whispered groggily, obviously not yet awake.

Standing up on their bed, Klaire jumped onto him, crashing down on his stomach.  "OUCH!" Marc screamed, finally awake.  "You didn't have to go that far."

"You know as well as I do that I did," Klare responded.  She looked down lovingly at him, as he finally opened his eyes.  Her eyes met his: wide, beautiful, comforting, red.

It was a simple life, but Klaire always appreciated that it was.