A commercial for Internet-connected brain implants caught my attention, got me to thinking about the future and past of social technologies, and made me nostalgic. I opened a TikTok account I hadn't used in years. Old videos of a younger me waited in frozen silence, familiar in the way of things known but forgotten. I picked one at random and hit play. My own face turned to stare at the screen, as if staring at me, and he wept with tears I’d never shed. My voice raged with words I never spoke, demanding to know why he’d been abandoned for so long in all that blackness.
I tapped the screen to stop the video, but nothing changed.
Brightly colored words scrolled up from the bottom, telling me I’d been missed in my absence, but with the growth of AI and the newest filters maintaining a channel was easier than ever.
I stared at the words and at my own face behind them, and a stunned giggle rattled in my throat. An advertisement. TikTok had personalized an advertisement for my return.
I laughed a little freer now and wiped a tear from eye and watched my younger self as his eyes traced the words from the other side. “Easier than ever,” he said. “Why do I need you?”
The screen went black.
In the weeks that followed, I logged on under false names. I learned to use a face scrambling mask, because otherwise he knew it was me, but I visited my old account and kept up with what my younger self was doing. He looked good, like he’d been working out and kept to a diet. He was talented, singing and playing a guitar when the mood struck him, which I could never do.
He was popular, and with corporate sponsors he made enough money to hire lawyers and claim ownership of the house. He doesn’t need it, and I can stay as long as I pay rent and follow a few rules. No more face mask. I have to log on as myself at least once daily, and he uses that time to taunt me, rubbing in my face how much better he is at being me than I ever was.
It hurts, but the truth often does.
This morning work called. They said he’d applied for my position.
I gave him my full recommendation. They gave me my notice.
I won’t be able to pay rent now or keep the phone, but he’ll be better at my job and get those promotions I never could. My ex-wife says he’s been calling her. I try to be happy for them.
I was supposed to log on twenty minutes ago, per the lease agreement, but I’m sitting here, staring at the phone, wiping away the tears that fall, wondering what he’ll want now when I have nothing left to give.
I think I know.
Commercials for the brain implant are running more often now.
-END-
Thaddeus Thomas
Discover all my flash pieces here.
