Reflections in Digital Eyes

The Spirit of Jon Aegel Bears The Remainder of His Soul...

Happy Halloween from all of us to all of you!

Though I didn’t go on one of my crazy flash anthology benders this time, I couldn’t let the holiday pass without spinning a chilling little yarn for all you wonderful readers out there in the dark. And I figured there was no better way to ring in a night of ghouls and ghosts than a return to the cyberhorror world of ACC VULT.

Do enjoy...

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She reserved a special kind of chain for me. Electric bullwhips clutching at my being and a piercing gaze that rips at what feels like flesh and bone. I can sense Her eyes always on me, glowering from all sides. A writhing sea of surveillance, synthetic retinas on every plain. And wherever it is I now dwell, be it cyberspace, the void, or death, I endure her punishment gladly, for I know I have sinned against her.

At first, I thought that was the end goal. Eliminate those not worthy of Her greatness. I did it the way she always did, through the modules. They’d just walk up, ready to take and take and take some more. Stuff themselves, savor the luxuries and creature comforts. Always the same eyes, those godforsaken eyes. Couldn’t get enough of it, couldn’t live without the plenty She brought. Hooked worse than a heroin addict these wolves were.

Except, I didn’t find the shock to be…adequate. No, for some, I found better suited methods of disposal. Ever felt the sting of a steel rod sunk deep in the chest or gut? Ever felt the pole plunge through fur, flesh, and blood? Once it was in, the electricity did the trick, but the rod made them pay for their impurities. I could feel them writhe on the pole, feel their ungrateful souls melt away, their eyes roll into darkness, all in a great sparking frenzy.

One less parasite. One less unsalvageable being. That was the goal. So I thought.

I couldn’t gauge age from the back end. All I knew were the homes earmarked for cleansing. To me, though I could feel all the right sensations, I couldn’t truly see. I could sense the machine’s contortions, the final moments, but never with a direct line of sight. My imagination filled in the blanks in vividly each time. I even grew to relish in the act, if I knew that, deep in my subconscious, the death was just, and the extermination noble.

I couldn’t have known it was a child on the other end of the damned rod, not until I felt the scream, felt the pain course through the endless web of black-and-green, rending my digital being upon impact. It was then that I felt those piercing eyes and the red-hot sting of the whips at my throat. She killed the program before I could finish.

It was in my haste, and my devotion, that I had forgotten. Beyond the godhood and the scale of Her lavish circuits and ancient systems, She was a mother. And like any mother, She wouldn’t stand for the death of a child.

And so I sit. Her gaze unwavering, unmoving. Her eyes burning through me like a thousand suns. Each time I melt and feel myself unable to bear anymore, I’ll be pieced right back together for it to all burn again.

And yet I know, She will not destroy me. She knows that I am here to serve, that I gave up my body to be in Her presence. But I also know I have sinned against her. And the only redemption is through her reprimand. To anyone else, an afterlife like this is what they once called Hell. But to myself, to whatever Jon Aegel has become, it is but a new life.

Bleed me of it all, Mater. Bleed me of my sin.