Echo

An echo isn’t real. It is a faded reflection of an original sound. The more an echo reflects the fainter it becomes. It is delayed and always comes after something more grand. In ancient Greece, Echo was a nymph cursed to repeat the last words spoken to her and could not share thoughts of her own.

*

Loralyn was an echo of a woman. She woke up defeated, her muscles weighing down her skeleton sinking into the cushion of her bed. Opening her eyes was the hardest part of her day. Unmotivated, she would drag herself to the water closet to begin her morning routine. Aching from lack of activity and teeth stinging as though they had been chilled in the night. Once moving, the motions at the beginning of her day were the easiest for her to confront.

She knew exactly what to do without much thought. She knew she had done it tens of thousands of times before and the repetitive nature gave her some peace. Brush her hair back, clean her mouth, stretch her eyes and cheeks, apply her face. Her clothes were all the same and didn’t require choice.

This time was used to try and remember her dreams. They always seemed to take place in the same few locations. Places that seemed familiar and never changed but she knew existed only in her mind. Walking down city blocks, experiencing the warmth of the sun reflecting off the buildings. Attending a school with so many different departments that the twists and turns always lead her to a lecture hall she had never entered before. Entering grand ballrooms that seemed to be consistently shifting between different themes and costumes.

Her dreams were filled with a life of luxury and changed with the whims of whatever academic pursuit she fancied that week. Her days consisted of her dressing herself in clothing that was probably once fashionable but had become soft with repetitive wear, and after she dressed she would eat. The last step of her routine and one that she attempted to drag out as long as possible. Trying to savor every bite of her bland meal, she realized it must be Wednesday, oatmeal with a hard boiled egg.

After she finished eating came the moment she had been dreading- what to do with herself? Loralyn didn’t have any classes or galas to attend, that was at night. The sun rarely warmed her skin as the buildings were too high to reflect much glare and the shadows made everything a tint of slate blue. She could still wander the streets and hope for excitement. But most of the interesting shops had closed or moved away and the remaining bodegas didn’t sell much in the way of entertainment.

Sitting on the chaise and wishing she was interested in a book was her activity for most days. She knew venturing out might lead to something entertaining for a few moments, but just thinking about the effort involved was taxing. However, what was really exhausting was thinking about what led her to this stagnation. She could vaguely recollect that at one point she had been interested in things and had people she could speak with about all sorts of topics. There was a sense that she once had a little more money and could afford to go out, but her account hadn’t been replenished for ages.

Something Loralyn kept getting stuck on- where did this desire for living come from? It wasn’t that she wished to die, it was that she simply no longer desired to exist. But somewhere deep inside there was a drive. A drive to keep going. Almost as if she was challenging herself to see how long she could make it. 

This particular day she decided to venture outside. She thought the words to describe the air were brisk and musty, but it had been long enough since she had needed to describe anything that she wasn’t sure. The dust made her cough and the constant thrum of machinery was only interrupted when cars with worn brake pads would stop for an intersection, startling her.

Several turns around the block was all she needed before Loralyn decided to turn back as cleaning the grime off the shower floor would be too much to bear. She was also excited to ride the elevator again. When it reached her floor the ding was delightful and signaled dreamtime was near. Her dinner of pork and toast was a nice combination of crunchy and soft. Although the toast irritated the top of her mouth.

Finally it was time for her night time routine. Remove her face, stretch her eyes and cheeks, clean her mouth, brush her hair. Then she would take her pills and lay on her mattress pad, staring at the textured ceiling while she thought about what adventures she was about to have.

*

The E.C.H.O. program began as an idea to preserve the minds of humanity's greatest thinkers. Perhaps if they could preserve the thoughts of the truly great then mankind could reverse its course quickly and achieve true immortality. Unfortunately, the minds they preserved weren’t as sharp as they had been.

It would seem that the transferring of consciousnesses into new bodies dulled the senses and ambition for discovery. Just as recreating an exceptional work of art into a print removes some of its greatness. Undeterred, the technology was repurposed for an even greater purpose, commerce. By selling a second life to the ultra wealthy the E.C.H.O. program flourished and research tripled.

Billionaires no longer needed to worry about trusts and funds to have their legacy live on. They could simply do it all over again. Risk of life and limb or disease became things of the past and life could be lived to the fullest every day. 

The unbridled narcissism and sense of invulnerability led to some poor choices as with each copy the participants lost more of what made them who they were. The straw that broke the camel’s back was the Nine Lives Program where one could save a fortune by prepaying for copies of themselves. One thing that did not seem to fade was their egos. They believed they were special and incapable of fear.

Naturally this behavior combined with unchecked spending attracted grifters who knew they could walk away with enormous paydays by promising “The next big thing.” Wealth shifted into the hands of those who knew that you can’t take it with you. Those who thought themselves invulnerable were now damned to a limbo of melancholy as they were transferred from one body to the next, not realizing they were cursed.

***

Nathaniel Tynsmith throws axes, builds LEGO, plays D&D, and has trouble sleeping. He is proud to be in this issue of Grim & Guilded as he is extremely proud of this work and is honored to be among the other amazing authors. "One should strive to act with compassion and empathy toward all creatures in accordance with reason."