The Man In The Mirror

The man in the mirror stares at me. As I feel his eyes lock with my own, I try to deflect my gaze, but I am compelled to look. It’s difficult to face up to yourself, no holds barred, but sooner or later the time comes when you must take a critical look at yourself. 

I am watching the mirror, my eyes fixed on the monitor screen. It presents figures, graphs and charts, almost as if trying to prove its efficacy to me - not that it needs to convince me. I have no choice.

I know what I have done. So does the mirror. They used to say it was between God and ourselves - only he could truly know our good deeds and our sins; only he could control our fates on judgement day. That was before the mirror. Judgement day is today. To have your very soul reflected back at you is to stand in front of the mirror, to answer the question: Am I a good man? Saint or sinner?

To our children it was all they knew. Those who were older were upgraded later in life as the technology became available, and many protested - but it was the law. To be honest, after 50 years of this it’s unthinkable to imagine what life was like before. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for the mirror - mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all?  Not I. The mirror knows. All of our feelings: our anger and sadness, our joy, our triumphs, our failures, our guilt. The mirror knows what I am thinking, and the mirror is always right. 

Just five minutes ago I heard the mirror passing judgement on somebody else. She was lucky. Well, not lucky; simply put, she was a good person. I was sure I could feel the mirror gazing into her soul and presenting her with a reflection of herself - a perfect, pristine, clean reflection - surely she had nothing to fear. I heard the mirror speak from my position in the corridor: Verdict: Life Preservation. 

Heaven, they used to call it. Eternal life in the computer is what they call it now. There’s only so much space in the mainframe - selective preservation is imperative these days. Back when they made the digital consciousness breakthrough, everyone and their dog paid up their life savings - who wouldn’t, I guess? I don’t know why I hesitated. I suppose I thought it was a poor substitute for real life - the sight of a potential new home for the first time made me feel sick: a black box among many black boxes in an underground warehouse. What a bad decision I made. 

There were more afterlife seekers than computer memory could hold, and several incidents involving accidental deletion of consciousness had sent compensation payouts soaring. A solution was devised. At the age of seventy-five, everyone must come to the mirror to be judged. Any earlier, except in exceptional circumstances, is a waste of good taxpayers. Any later, and the effects of overpopulation and the burdens of old age would be a detriment to society.

The good were to be saved, like how the prophets and saints told us. A life well-lived in the real world proves one’s worth in creating the brave new world inside the computer. The mediocre were to die, just like the good old days. Whether there is a life after death for them, who can truly say?

The evil, the wicked - I know their fate, but I can’t bear to think of it. I fear it’s waiting for me.

Now I stand before the mirror. 

I can feel the mirror heaping scorn upon me. I hate it. The noble, virtuous, irreproachable, saintly mirror. The mirror knows my hatred. It knows my deepest fears and my happiest memories, all my thoughts showing like stains on a sheet. I feel my brain burning from the hateful chip reading my mind like a parasite. Through it, the mirror knows my earliest memories: leaving my mother to clean up after my mess; my stubborn refusal to eat food from the plate my mother had so lovingly prepared for me. The mirror cares not for these follies of youth. But the mirror knows my true love, my lost love… The mirror knows, and the mirror is always right.

The large, harshly lit room in which I stand has an artificial air about it. The lack of shadows only seem to emphasise the complete inability to hide anything from the mirror - there are no hidden corners of my mind anymore; no secrets to be taken to the grave. My guilt doesn’t leave me alone, like an itch, like a parasite feasting on my brain until it rots. How I long to see my family again - my family whom I had to cut out of my life. How I wish for a second chance.

My mind wanders again and I think about what happened to her. I can tell myself that it wasn’t my fault, but I know it not to be true. My culpability is borne naked and vulnerable for the mirror to see. I killed her. I did it long before this chip in my brain. Innocent on all charges. How I got away with it - God knows. But now I can’t deny the inevitable. I’m sure the mirror has made up its mind already. 

The chosen angels can’t live forever without sacrifices, and Atlas must hold the heavens from the Earth. Experimentation on the completely unworthy to ensure the longevity of the good was the solution. The evil will also be preserved, for eternity, but to be probed, analysed and scrutinised by the machine, for research purposes. I’m sure I’ve heard that people are subjected to constant torment, hallucinogenic horrors, feelings of paranoia - digital pseudo-consciousness pushed to its limits for the greater good. They say the unlucky feel it all - like a nightmare that never ends. They deserve it, the people say. They’re probably right.

The mirror is blank. The monitor screen fades to black and I catch a glimpse of an ugly man reflected in the darkness. I shudder. The man in the mirror is a sinner.

The mirror begins to speak:

Citizen 53gjrwk240 Name Douglas Peter Johnson Status: Living Date of Birth 23/09/2074 Decision:

The mirror pauses, almost mockingly. It speaks:

Permanent Experimentation on Digital Human Consciousness

Instantly four walls entomb me and I know I have had my last glimpse of the world. Before I lose consciousness I only have time to think that when I reawaken, I will never rest again - my life in hell is only just about to begin.