Memories of a Dead Woman

Dark.

Light.

Colour.

Shape.

Form.

Her eyes were open.

Information flooded in.

Detailing a room full of memories. The sofa where she'd first made love
to the man who'd left her for an artificial. The brown stain on the
white, worn rug by the fireplace where she'd spilt coffee when she'd
first moved into the third floor apartment. One of many in a high-rise
tenement in the middle of the bustling metropolis which London had
become. A city which was almost unrecognisable after all these years.
She'd sat in the black, angular chair once every morning for half an
hour to try and improve her posture and muscles. It hadn't worked but
routine became habit forming. Instead she'd worked out in the tenement
gym and taken muscle-boosting drugs to build her to her 'ideal
physique'. Light was coming in through the window that covered a whole
wall. One single plane of glass designed to filter out the harmful UV
rays and radiation that the scientists told everyone were in the sun's
rays. The light was almost pure white. A solid artificial thing which
struck the room instead of the gentle golden rolling light of the sun
from her childhood. Everything, which had been good, was deemed bad
now. No one was safe from rumour although superstition had been
eradicated. She remembered sighing. She was an old-fashioned romantic,
longing for the days when everything was simple. Her dad used to travel
to work not plug himself into a computer console and work from home.
Everything was catered for. No one need leave their apartments. Food
could be ordered via touch screens. Everything. Which is why she had to
get out.

Go for a walk.
 
Death was strange. It wasn't darkness. It was something. There was
something within the dark. She knew it to be black therefore she was
still sensing. As though she was asleep but her eyes were open to the
darkness of her room. No noise reached her. It was a void. With
something in it.

Her.

She was here. Where was here? A last thought. Striking the pavement. A
dull thud. Brief flash of red. Black followed then this darkness.

Light.

Brief flash.

Another.

Light.

She could see. A memory of opening her eyes without actually doing so.
Just light filled her. She allowed her 'body' to float on it, become as
one with the light. Her being was being imploded to make herself up.
She could think. Everything was a memory. A man's face, indistinct,
floated briefly in the light then was gone. A couple naked, sweating as
they were seen in the last throes of sexual fulfilment. She had a
memory of pleasure but no actual feeling. She knew she was dead.
 
Outside the light was slightly duller. She'd refused the 'outdoor suit'
which Arnaud had offered her.
"Dangerous out there without the suit," he'd advised her, "taken your
pills have you?" She nodded. Lying. She never took her regulation
pills. Just her muscle boosters. She watched as a bird flew from one
tree to another. It's quiet song being heard by her alone. It was the
only one she saw all day. The area was devoid of life. Nothing but
concrete and metal. Gleaming and glinting in the sun. Neon logos
displayed their wares loudly from side streets. She chose one. Walking
down it slowly. It was darker here, overshadowed by metal walkways
linking the tenement blocks, covered in glass so you weren't exposed to
the reality outside. She stepped over a puddle of something she
presumed was water. A neon sign flashed on and off in front of her. It
was a bar. An old fashioned swing door displayed as its entrance. Dark,
dirty and dingy but real. Nothing seemed fake about it. She
entered.

The smell hit her first. A fusty smell of sweat and beer. It took her
eyes a while to adjust to the gloom of the antique neon lighting. There
was a wooden bar against the far wall, a man stood behind it, wiping
glasses, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, its smoke adding to the
atmosphere of the bar. A couple sat at the table in front of her, both
were dressed in leather body suits, lips pierced and matching mohicans.
She walked forward, round the tables, slowly.
"Yeah." the statement emitted from the bar-tender's mouth as she
neared, his eyes fixed on her low cut dress which exposed her breasts
perfectly, stopping just above the nipples. It was the latest
fashion.

"A drink, whatever." she replied, standing at the bar.

He nodded and pulled her half a glass of a golden liquid.

"On the house." he grunted as he appraised her figure again. This time
she nodded.

"Stranger." a new voice, male, by her left ear, "meeting
someone?"

"No." she replied as he came into view. Rough, tall. She smiled.

"Good." he said and joined her.

 
The first colour which became apparent was red. Somewhere to the left
of what used to be her field of vision. Blue was next followed by
yellow. A sudden spectrum appeared as though viewed through a prism of
glass. The rainbow flashing past her eyes. She could blink. She could
remember blinking, tried and failed. The colours sped past her vision.
They frightened her. The speed. She wanted to re-coil from them, step
away but couldn't. There was no form to them, just splotches of colour
like a child's painting. Random acts of chaos. In the world of her
reality she'd have been able to have sold the tableau in front of her
for millions if not more. She wanted to sigh, shrug, do something but
only memories and brief flashes of these actions assailed her as she
thought of them.

Much later or it might have been earlier, black lines seemed to form
outlines around the splotches of colour. They were beginning to
resemble shapes of some sort. The original red splotch could've been a
chair, indistinct as though seen through a film of water. Or a haze of
addiction.
She definitely knew she was dead.

 
The man led her back to his apartment. It was in the lower regions,
under the sub-ways. She liked him. He excited her. They entered his
apartment. She ended up staying for four days. She used his out of date
computer console to stay in touch with work. They ate proper food
cooked on a cooker or sometimes he used the microwave. It was back to
basics. Primitive. She loved it. At night, or at least his clock told
them it was night, they made love on his dirty, stained mattress he
used as a bed. Then she'd hook herself back into the console, just
keeping tabs on all her investments and imports and exports. That's all
she did, hook in, eat, hook in, make love. She liked him.

They made love for the last time in the afternoon of the fourth day.
She felt their heat, sweat then she had to hook back in. She needed her
fix. He killed her while she was checking her offshore investments.
Left her attached to the machine, her body lying broken on his concrete
floor which was part of the pavement. He walked. Walked out of her
life.
 
It was her apartment. She knew that. Could see everything. The red
chair, yellow sofa, slight green of her touch and console screens.
Everything had a colour, shape, form. The filtered light was whiter
than cleanliness. Something seemed wrong though. She stared
harder.

The chair clicked into sharp focus. Jumping forward in her vision. She
had a close up of it now. She relaxed her vision. The chair filtered
back to its original position. She stared at the sofa.
The same.

Click.

Filter.

Something had been wrong with them.

They'd been made up of dots.

Pixelated.

Dark

HER

light

EYES

Colour

WERE

shape

OPEN

Form

Information flooded in.