Deby's Brain Implant

The brain implant into Deby’s head was successful. Her perky personality, love for color coding closets, and spontaneous dancing were restored. The food cart that ran her over on 59th street had crumpled her head, wiped out her memory, which of course, erased her personality. Her friend Joan, a catholic, said the food cart crushed her “soul.” The doctor, an atheist, said it crushed her “hippocampus.”

Her father, a prudent oxygen-salesman, had bought “Personality Cloud Storage” for $99.99 / month, but passed over Apple’s tiny-fonted terms which warned that all of her memory might not be restored. If Deby didn’t consciously know about something, an event, an interaction, a forgotten abuse, it was never saved.

So there Deby was. Laying under a hospital blanket smiling at her friend’s and family’s faces, as happy as a kid at her own surprise party, with just with her old conscious memories. Of course, all of her subconscious memories were the painful ones, which were the ones that made her truly potent, virtuous and a genuine empath, and now, with all of those blunt, nuanced scars gone, her core was insufferably happy.

Her perspective was dreadfully naive. Her perspective sickly sweet.

The Apple doctors noted she was “apathetically content.” And within a year, more food-carts started crumpling heads.

Deby didn’t know it, but she was the first of a new wave of humans called the “Homosaccharines.” If she had known that, she would have been quite happy. 🧠