The Living Wake
270 Words
Alex sat beside Molly’s bed, her hand wrapped around her daughter’s small, fragile fingers. For the first time, the hospital wasn’t surrounded by synthetic projections or firewalls of trauma. It was quiet. Real.
But peace never comes without a price.
Outside the room, the hospital’s alarm lights still flickered—not from fire, but from truth. The system that once held a thousand emotional simulations was breaking down, the code collapsing.
“You need to leave soon,” said Dr. Verin, his voice softer now. “Before the failsafes start targeting you again.”
Alex didn’t answer. She was watching Molly breathe.
“You created something that shouldn’t exist,” Verin continued. “A mind capable of overriding grief protocol. Do you realize what you’ve done?”
Alex’s gaze didn’t leave her daughter. “I did what any mother would do. I broke the machine that told me to forget her.”
A faint beep. Molly’s eyes twitched.
“She’s waking,” Alex whispered.
Verin stepped back. “Then it’s time.”
The Room of Mirrors
As Alex stood, she caught her reflection in the dark glass.
It wasn’t just her.
Behind her stood a dozen shadows—fragments of her mind. The versions that once screamed, begged, bled. They weren’t gone. They followed her. Accepted her.
“You can’t erase pain,” one shadow said. “But you can walk with it.”
Alex nodded. “Let’s go home.”
She kissed Molly’s forehead and walked toward the exit.
The fire was gone. The loops had ended.
But grief? Grief never ends.
It just becomes a part of you.
- Writer
