by Ryan Burnett
It wasn’t the most interesting past time but I was a shy girl and needed to do something with my hands and feet to keep from sitting still. I had become interested in the Photographists shortly after the funeral. Burying my father had no sense of finality to it; no closure. I was still grieving then…I was still grieving now, and a part of me thought that I always would be until the day I went to join him. It was almost by coincidence that I had found out about the Photographists during that time. But those things they had shown me, the indescribable beauty of the movement. It had given me the perspective and drive that I needed to go on with my life. I hadn’t hesitated for a second when they offered me a chance to install their software despite the extravagant donation asked of all those that underwent the process. Everything he had left me had been sold and that money’s sole purpose was to finance schooling and this procedure. Truth be told I would have sold everything including the clothes of my back to be a part of this, it was more than worth it.
As we waited a video began to play and my attention instantly focused on it desperate for something more interesting than fabric. A well-dressed man with a buzz cut slightly too stylish to be military appeared on the screen standing amidst a grassy field with a weeping willow in the background. He smiled at the camera and began to talk, “Welcome, friends, strangers, and artists. My name is Harold Ostan and I have a vision. Please listen to my words with an open mind and an open heart and hopefully you will too.” The scene changes now the same man is standing in a desert, behind him the half crumbled remains of pyramids add an ancient majesty to the setting. “History is decided by the victor, since the beginning of man we have been obsessed with leaving behind a record of our lives, our challenges and defeats, our victories and triumphs, we’ve struggled to achieved some type of immortality only to be thwarted again and again by the confines of language, power, and of course time. If I tell you my life’s story how could I possibly expect you to understand what I mean by my words alone? If by some miracle you could understand, what are the odds that even with the resources of the whole nation at my disposal, I could find some way to truly commemorate and share my life? Even if I were one of the richest men in the world and was willing to use the entirety of my fortune to build a testament to what I have experienced in this life” the man took a short pause to look behind him at the pyramids that seemed to be on the brink of ruin, “even the greatest of monuments can crumble and fall.”
I had seen the video at least three times before but now it seemed more significant. I had made my own decision. Still a part of me appreciated each and every small reminder that made me more aware as to why I had chosen this path.
“The Photographist movement is not a religious one. Each individual is free to believe in whatever gods, goddesses, or lack thereof as they choose. The movement is about legacy, the movement is about honesty, the movement is about art. When I initially invested in VRN technology I had no idea of the explosive growth that would accompany it. After the growth I was faced with a problem that I had never encountered before, ‘How can I use my wealth in a meaningful way?’ This movement is my answer and my gift to future generations.”
The scenery changed yet again now Harold was walking down a shaded forest path towards the camera. Though he started far away his voice was strong and clear all the way through the shot. The forest itself dark but not so much so that it impaired video quality and yet the odd splotches of sunlight that pierced the treetops seemed bright enough to be the result of a magic now lost to this modern age. “What I have created is something outstandingly simple that will lead to the most complex records of beauty mankind has ever seen. It all starts with a VRN modification and a program. The program is a continuously running video recorder that copies the signals that your eyes relay to your brain. In other words whatever you see it records. It also records your brain’s neurochemical release in response to the stimuli. It does its best to capture the feelings you had as well. This specialized recorder will continue until the day you die or until you lose your sight entirely. There is no pause button and apart from total removal of the VRN no way to uninstall.”
At this point Harold stops and stares at a stream that can be barely heard but is just off screen. Five seconds of silence tick by before he resumes his speech. “Now you may be asking yourself “what do we do with these recordings?” Well first be assured that the video files are heavily encrypted and your individual encryption key is not transmitted back to our technicians until the moment all brain activity ceases. In life, all Photographists can be assured of complete and total privacy. Death however is a different story and it is where my vision truly begins.” The scene changes to a busy industrial complex where technicians are monitoring and working on a large series of server towers that form a piece of a massive datacenter.
“Artist, family members, and loyal supporters of the VRN movement from all around the world volunteer to sort and arrange the data and recordings that have been collected. Upon death a piece in commemoration of your life will be commissioned composed of carefully chosen video and emotional clips from your own recording. After which these chosen moments, moments that encompass the entire spectrum of emotion, will be saved to be used in group and symbolic amalgamations the first of which we plan to have completed within the next fifty years. All of these works of art created directly from the experiences of our willing Photographists are saved onto our servers and available for friends and family to download and experience free of charge at any Photographist facility worldwide. They have no say as to the artistic direction or scene selection of the photos. In a sense neither do we.
We do not preach a doctrine nor do we uphold a definite set of values. In fact I would imagine many of the beliefs that I hold differ from yours quite radically! But why tell you when I can show you?”
The screen began to cycle through completed projects. While beautiful they were nothing compared to downloading and experiencing a life first hand through your VRN complete with emotional impressions. The first time I had done it I had known with every neuron in my being that I wanted to be a part of this. The mosaic scenes had at first appeared as vague amorphous shapes but any portion you focused on revealed scenes of outstanding triumph or crippling loss slowly merging into hate or lust or greed or joy. The varieties were endless and the seamless transitions from one moment to the next was breathtaking and although each individual scene was experience for only a minute I wished I could load record after record to view, experience, and reflect on them for weeks on end. It was almost like living through a piece of another person. Or realizing you were only one position in a giant kaleidoscope that could be turned and twisted into an infinite amount of positions. It was enough to make one truly want to just lose their self.
It was too soon that the camera returned to Harold now in the same field as the beginning only this time sitting in the tree reclining and looking off as if unaware of the camera but obviously talking for the benefit of this video. “Many donate their money or list our organization in their will because they see the value of what I’m doing. Creating the first ever true, beautiful, and (with our systems of continuous backups and redundancy protocols) eternal human legacy. But what we are really asking from you is to give us the means and ability to share your life in absolute honesty. Your donations are helping us build a monument far greater than the kings and pharaohs of old could ever imagine. I’ve shown you my vision, I hope one day you will choose to share yours.” With that the video cut off abruptly, and a 40 something brunette woman in a grey and black suit came through the door that led into the interior of the building.
“Group A, welcome. We have confirmed that all of you have filled out all the required paper work and you have all been cleared for installation and registry. If you could please follow me.” I stood up slowly and waited for most of the others to go forward before I followed. The video had strengthened my resolve but it had also upped my anxiety. One day someone would view my project and a sort of respons
ibility to see and experience great things….. honest things….had begun to sink in. Before I could let the feeling overwhelm me I followed the others through that open door. I was the last to leave the room, I looked back one last time to see the receptionist smile brightly as she twirled her hair and talked to a young man whose spikey blonde hair was died red at the tips. He said something that made the two of them laugh before he looked over and saw me watching the two of them. He winked at me before I darted out of sight to rejoin the group and to finally become a true Photographist….
I awoke with a start. I had never dreamed a memory before. At least not that vividly, it was a strange experience reliving the past, kinda like déjà vu. Everything was so vivid and real down to the last detail. Even the print and color of the dress had been perfect. I guess stress and trauma can make the brain do all sorts of tricky things but I couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that made that memory resurface now over any other one.
I may never be able to figure myself out but what I could figure out is if there was anything else worth reporting back at the club and once I had a chance to check on what our security system had captured…. assuming I still had a job after last night’s fiasco. I activated the mental command that made my VRN display a digital clock in the corner of my vision. The numbers on the display made me immediately jump up and bruise my shoulder against the wall when I stumbled in a clumsy rush to the shower. My research group was going to start without me! I couldn’t be late again!
Chapter 7
Marcus
06:06:39
My mind had stopped racing and the lunatic energy that had possessed me had started to ease its grip on my body…but I was still charged. Still the last traces of the acid were holding its own against the inevitable siege of exhaustion. We had only made it as far as my apartment last night. The desire to crash had prevailed, bolstered by a round of alcohol reinforcements we had bought from a convenience station.
Rob lay passed out on my couch his quiet snores eclipsed by the sound of the news broadcast. It was 6 AM and the shooting at Club Pangea was already old news, it was something about arson but I couldn’t really pay attention to it. My eyes kept wandering to the letters of the live feed that scrolled across the bottom of the screen. They wiggled and danced around each other in miniature circles. I assume there were some miscellaneous stabbings and robberies as well but only sensational crimes and tragedies are worth the airtime. They had ratings to think of and couldn’t waste it on felonies without a sense of spectacle.
Rob awoke with a low rumble as he opened his eyes and sat up to stretch and yawn. “Fuck man….I can never sleep when I get loaded” he stumbled to the bathroom with blood shot eyes. When he emerged he was carrying a small cylinder. Taking a seat he began stuffing the tube with a pinch of hash which he produced from some hidden locale on his person. Wordlessly he brought it to his lips and inhaled before passing it to me. I did the same before slowly blowing out rings of smoky vapor. In silence we nursed our hangovers.
“Hungry?” I asked.
Rob turned to nod his agreement. “Do you really need to ask? Nothings gonna be open right now though.”
“I know a place.”
“Don’t you always” he said with a grin. Apparently the herb was doing its job.
“Is this the….”
“Voodoo prostitute? Yeap.”
I smiled and nodded before jumping to my feet as if I could use the surge of motion and action to gather mental momentum to carry me on through the day. Rob spoke up as I kneeled to tie my shoes in front of the doorway. “Are you sure it is gonna be ok to leave the briefcase here? That guy seemed like he was serious and this isn’t exactly a vault or anything.”
“What do you think is in it? Cash? Jewels? No this isn’t payment. This is something he wanted us to have. So the way I see it we either chill out around here and wait for him to find us or we can get it open, get a head start, and get that much closer to pay day. We’re taking it with us.”
“Good man, besides I’m pretty sure he just wanted us to find someone. Nothing we haven’t done before… and something tells me that guy and whoever he is working for has deep pockets.”
I nodded my agreement and then opened the door and began the walk to Orion’s. I couldn’t help but notice how much stranger everything looked in the light of dawn. Even the crumbling concrete remnants of the parking garage behind the apartment complex seemed born anew in this strange illumination. The walk there was a quiet one made enjoyable by the practiced ease of familiarity. One would expect the structure to appear even more squalid without the lights on and the hustle of business going on but even now this strange spherical grease shack had the nobility of permanence about it. I circled around to the back of Orion’s and rapped three times against the odd shaped door in an almost painfully offbeat rhythm.
“We’re closed” proclaimed an anjeho drenched voice with a slight Spanish accent that was slightly distorted by the cheap intercom built into the wall.
“I know your hours Xavier. It’s Marcus.”
“Well why didn’t you say so earlier?” asked the voice as I heard the sounds of locks disengaging. The interior of the back room resembled that of a warehouse. The lighting was poor and the left and right walls were lined with neatly stacked crates. In the center of the room sat a man in his early 60’s or late 50’s at a table by himself staring at a chessboard in front of him with rapt concentration. All of the pieces were holographic projections, one side being controlled by another player located god knows where. I had played the old man a few times and had only won once. It was after we had both had a few to many to drinks and even then in the moment I had known my victory was only the result of pure chance. I couldn’t even imagine the type of person he was playing against at this moment.
“Good morning, sir. I trust you and your amigo have had an enjoyable night?”
Xavier’s style was peculiar one. Always immaculately dressed in casual yet classy shirts and slacks with a color range that started at midnight and ended at charcoal. All I knew about his life before opening Orion’s I had cobbled together from the off colored stories and jokes he liked to tell. It was almost impossible to separate the truth from the fiction but never the less you could get a sense of the man. A street smart ex-hustler who had a soul older than the cement under his feet. I had never seen him talk with anything other than the utmost courtesy but I knew without a doubt that he was capable of shooting anyone who ever attacked him, his business, or his loved one.
Xavier was one of the few people I trusted… more than partially because he seemed to unquestioningly trust me. Whether that was a wise decision on either of our parts I couldn’t be sure. He had helped me out before and even when business was slow he was a good source of advice in all things. Well almost all things, I knew better than to come to him with any questions pertaining to my love life. Every byte of good sense that his impressive brain could process seemed to disappear into the void whenever women were involved. Once upon a time a femme fatale had almost cost him his life and mine, but in that regard some people simply never learn their lesson.
“Did Elton give you my message?” I asked, as I nodded my greeting to the older man.
“Why waste time talking business when your friend looks hungry? You couldn’t have possibly had breakfast yet have you sirs?” He always insisted in calling the people around him sir and miss regardless of their social status. It was partially out of simple respect for other human beings and partly a byproduct of the class he carried himself with.
Rob’s eyes opened a bit wider in pleasant surprise, “I’m not the type to turn down a meal” he said with a grin.
Xavier reached under the desk and pressed a button and spoke to an unseen intercom. “Elton whip up something for Marcus and his amigo.”
“Sure thing chief”, came Elton’s voice echoing back.
Rob then gestured to a doorway behind them that led to the front of the building “Just through there
. Let us enjoy life.” It wasn’t long before a harsh sizzling began to emanate from Elton’s endeavors over the grill top. It seemed mere moments before he had returned with a tray full of chunks of proteinslab charred over with a blackened crust and covered in a semi translucent brown syrupy sauce. Rob raised an eyebrow at me, but after observing my relaxed posture and smile he eagerly grabbed a morsel off the plate and popped it in his mouth. I think the still hot food burned his mouth at least a little bit but judging by his ensuing expression he didn’t regret his choice. I’d bet my life savings the munchies had a vice like grip on him by now.
Sometimes life was like that. You took the good with the bad and although there was plenty of pain that was avoidable, the sheer experience of living in the moment made it all seem worth it in these unbalanced glimpses of clarity. Occasionally I was aware that we took it too far, that the risk didn’t always justify the rewards and the repeated overstimulation of the chemicals in our mind and body brought us closer to numbness than anything else. I couldn’t deny that simple truth…but other times the raw experience of, for lack of a better word, flavor was incomparable.
The line of thought was intriguing, but not as intriguing as the fare offered before me. I couldn’t help but smile as I picked the hot fare from the tray and took a bite rolling the chunk around in my mouth to disperse the heat a bit. Before I knew it I had gobbled down the whole thing and trying not to look like a fool as I licked my fingers clean of the sauce.
“I see you got an upgrade.” Xavier said with a smile after Rob and I had finished with our meal. Xavier’s white teeth shined especially bright against his dark clothes and palm bark skin.
“What makes you say that?” I asked, genuinely curious as to how he knew about the recent purchase when in our recent talks I had only briefly mentioned my desire to get one to him maybe once in passing.
