No More Sad Days

2nd place winner of Trifecta's 333 word challenge

brain (noun) 3: something that performs the functions of a brain; especially an automatic device (as a computer) for control or computation

“This isn’t going to hurt a bit,” he lied.

Her time had come. She’d been on the wait list since January.

“An artifact,” her mother had said, stroking her hair before bed. “My darling artifact. I cannot wait to see you smile.”

Original memories were so last summer.

She walked around with a frown. She was upside-down to everyone else’s right- side up. That’s what gave her away. She rarely smiled.

When you received your new brain, you had nothing to frown about. No more sad days. Only memories you’ve chosen and created. Kissing celebrities on rooftops in the rain. Doing 110 down the Pacific Coast Highway with the top down, the rush of the wind still in your hair and the taste of the ocean, all its salt still in your mouth, the memory so fresh even if it’s chronologically halfway down the list of your brand new fake past.

But you’d never know the difference. That was the beauty of The Brain. A chip the size of an almond, flat as a piece of paper, inserted into that atrocity of a thing you’re forced to be born with. The tangle of ground beef coated in dopamine stupid enough to remember the bad.

No more memories of summers in one piece bathing suits, ridiculed by Heather and Jennifer and Amber. No more recollections of the word, “No.” No more closed eyes, seeing the boy she’d drunkenly given herself to, and can never get herself back. No. When she woke, she’d be exactly who she’d always wanted to be.

She asked what happened when something bad occurred after the procedure. An F on a test, a grandparent dying. “Don’t be silly,” her mother told her. “People who accept The Brain don’t have bad days.”

“But I want to feel something,” she replied to the doctor’s lie. “That’s why I’m doing this.”

“No you don’t, Sweetheart. If you wanted to feel, you wouldn’t be here at all.”