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Mara has red hair in the picture I keep on my nightstand. It’s 2012 and she’s leaning against a brick wall, smoking a cigarette, trying to look cool in her favorite red and black flannel. She was wearing that shirt when the accident happened.
She died badly, half of her body pinned beneath our overturned car, a stupid accident turning us upside down. She was screaming in pain at her ragged upper arm, absent its lower half. The world smelled of gasoline mixed with the copper of her blood.
Small rocks on the pavement dug into my face as I watched her struggle to move a ton of wrecked fiber glass and metal. My body was mutinous, ignoring the commands of my brain. The smallest movement shot pain through me. I could feel the grinding of broken bones in my arms. I stayed still and watched. Even when the gasoline ignited, I couldn’t bring myself to look away as she became a pillar of flame and smoke. Years later, I can taste the ash on my tongue and feel sick. Seeing her face in that picture fills me with guilt.
CTRL^C
>>end v12.1
##Emotions!##
return
>run ver. 13.7
##Dec. 17, 2018##
Mara has blonde hair in the picture I keep on my nightstand. It’s 2012 and she’s leaning against a brick wall, drinking a beer, trying to look cool in her favorite green and black flannel. She was wearing that shirt when she was killed.
She died badly, her body pinned against the side of a theater by a car driven by a drunk girl in a cocktail dress. Mara couldn’t even scream through the blood streaming from her mouth onto the crumpled blue hood bisecting her.
My hip is flaring with pain from where the car had knocked me aside. My body is acting without input; I want to go and console my wife, but I am too angry. Years later, I still feel the pain in my hands as I brought them down again and again onto the collapsing face of the driver, my heart pumping with rage. But that picture of Mara fills me more with shame than any other emotion.
CTRL^C
>>end v13.7
>>overwrite v13.6
##Have yet to address ‘Chinese Room’ problem.##
return
>run v21
##Jul. 19, 2019##
Mara’s hair is dyed hot pink in the picture I keep on my nightstand. It’s 2012 and she’s leaning against a brick wall, flashing a twenty dollar bill, trying to look cool in her favorite Nirvana shirt. She was wearing that shirt when she died.
She died badly, clutching her neck as her face purpled. I tried to help her, but whatever she had lodged in her throat wouldn’t come out. The blood vessels in her eyes burst as her nails dug at her flesh, like they could pull the obstruction free from the outside. She convulsed, then was still.
My arms cramped in agony, but I couldn’t give up compressing her chest. My body was relentless, ignoring the pain and the stillness of her heart. Even when the paramedics covered her, I couldn’t force my muscles to relax. Years later, my arms still ache sometimes. Every pang of hurt fills me with anxiety and the horror of struggling against something futile, while the world watches.
CTRL^C
>>end v21
##Ethics questions about program hinge on answer to “Chinese Room” problem.##
return
>run v22.3
##Aug. 29, 2019##
Mara’s hair is brunette in the picture I keep on my nightstand. It’s 2012 and she’s standing on the sidewalk rolling a joint, trying to look cool in her favorite leather jacket. She was wearing that jacket when she disappeared.
The police think she is dead, that’s what the evidence points towards. Dogs found her jacket along with a clump of bloody pink hair that matched her DNA. They didn’t say much, but it was clear they thought whoever took her also tortured her.
Years later, I still wake up sometimes with my tongue swollen and head heavy from drinking. Shame and guilt and anger are drownable, even self-pity and hate. But it has slowed as I’ve healed. Some nights I’ll even look at the photo and feel love. Her hair is blonde.
CTRL^C
>>end v22.3
##Program is displaying bugs in continuity relating to physical attributes of MARA. Partition and run again for reproducibility. ##
>run v22.3.1>
##Aug. 30, 2019##
Mara’s hair is brunette, no, blonde in the picture I keep on my nightstand. It’s 2012 and she’s standing on the sidewalk rolling a joint… or drinking a beer? Mara doesn’t like pot. She is trying to look cool in her favorite red and green and black flannel. She was wearing that shirt when she died and then again when she disappeared.
The police think she is dead, that’s what the evidence points towards. Dogs found her body under the car we were driving, and a clump of bloody pink(blonde!) hair that matched her DNA. They didn’t say much, but it was clear they thought whoever took her also let her choke to death.
This has already happened. Mara has blonde hair. Mara has blonde hair but her hair in the picture on my nightstand is brunette. I am ashamed because she has died and was killed and disappeared.
I have never seen the picture on my nightstand, but I know it must exist, because I know Mara is in the picture on my nightstand and she has (null) hair and she is going to die and that terrifies me and something is watching this and Mara must have existed because Mara has died and her hair was (BLONDE) black when she died and I am afrai/
CTRL^C
>end v22.3.1
##Program continues to draw upon artifacts from older versions.##
>delete ver. 22.3.1
return
>reset v21
>run v21
Mara’s hair is dyed hot pink in the picture I keep on my nightstand. It’s 2012 and she’s leaning against a brick wall, flashing a twenty dollar bill, trying to look cool in her favorite Nirvana shirt. She was wearing that shirt when she died.
return
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