MY EYES ARE MANY, BUT I SEE NO END

Malissa is petting Spaghetti again. Gnarled stumps that were once her hands caress the tangled mess of fleshy strands. The eye behind my right ear gets the best view of her, hunched over, reaching beneath the desk where Dreygon and I crammed that abhorrent thing fourteen years ago. When Malissa bends down, the gravid blisters that plague her back engorge and rupture, oozing bilious fluid.

‘It’s okay, Harrit,’ she whispers. ‘Be still. I’m here.’

In truth, she whispered, “Itsh okay, Hallit. Eee shtill. Ine here,” but I’ve suffered her butchered language for decades, and can substitute the labial sounds that her shrivelled, withdrawn lips cannot form.

Tucked into the shadow of the desk’s kneehole, I can just about see Spaghetti—quivering away yet again. We thought it would be out of sight and mind when we dragged it to the west wall and stuffed it beneath the desk, but we were wrong. There’s no “out of sight” in this room. The west wall is twelve steps from the east, impossible to hide anything.

When I refer to the “west wall”, it’s not literal. There’s no directionality in our room, other than the directionality we invent. Dreygon is fused to the wall with the door, and one day he proclaimed himself to be “north”—the most important direction, according to him—which the rest of us saw no reason to contest. So, for the time being, Dreygon is north, the wall with the covered mirror is east, our useful friend Gasp is south, the desk is west, and Homer’s in the centre—I’m sat with him for the moment, participating in a game of mental chess.

Homer expects me to focus on the game and put up a decent fight, observe him through my forward-facing eyes and attempt to predict his tactics. I don’t see the point, he always wins. So, while Homer mulls over his next move, my focus is on Malissa.

‘Things will be better soon, Harrit. Shh, be still. It’s okay.’ On and on she goes, whispering just loud enough for us to hear. It’s obvious she’s not saying it for Spaghetti’s sake. We who can still hear are the audience for Malissa’s performance: Dreygon, Homer, and me. The goal is not comforting a friend, but to display her motherly nature, flashing compassion like a proud bird flashing vibrant plumage.

She even called that wretched thing “Harrit”, instead of Spaghetti, as if it’s still human. A tangle of fleshy noodles does not a human make. It can’t speak, can’t move. Every so often it will quiver, maybe for an hour, or a day, but that only indicates it’s alive, nothing more. Whether there’s a human mind trapped in there or not is inconsequential. But no, Malissa—being oh-so empathetic—interprets the random quivering as distress, and—being oh-so caring—goes out of her way to pet Spaghetti and whisper lies.

Apparently, it doesn’t matter that her comforts show no signs of success. Sometimes Spaghetti will stop quivering after a few minutes of petting, but sometimes it takes days, and Malissa is forced to take breaks when her stumps get irritated. Then, in some of those reprieves, the thing will stop quivering on its own. Sometimes Malissa doesn’t notice at all, when she’s busy using someone else to display her upstanding nature. The thing will start trembling, and then become still again, all by itself, no petting needed. She has to know it’s pointless, but still, she keeps petting, petting, petting. Pretending it’s still human. Pretending she’s still human! Just pretending, pretending…

‘Knight…B-5,’ says Homer, finally deciding his move. Snaps me out of wanting to throttle Malissa. It takes effort switching perspectives to turn my attention back to him. All of my eyes are functional; there’s one behind my ear, four on my back, one in my palm, and the original eyes on my face. Technically, I’m always looking through every one of them, but the human brain isn’t built to manage so many perspectives at once. So, I choose to focus on one, and the others fade like white noise. I can switch between them at will, but not too rapidly, lest I be crippled by migraines. As for the two on the inside of my left thigh and the cursed eye on the sole of my right foot, I try to ignore them completely. The only times I notice they exist are when pain reminds me; when I cross my legs instinctively or forget to keep weight on my left foot.

‘You look…incensed,’ says Homer. ‘Didn’t see…that move coming?’

‘Of course I saw it coming,’ I lie, only because he expects me to. ‘Queen F-6.’

‘Ah…an interesting…attack. Perhaps… you will…beat me…this time,’ says Homer, painfully slow, his deep voice drowning in phlegm. His monstrous mass makes it difficult to talk. Homer’s head is a colossal bald dome, as tall as I am and ten times as heavy. Impossible to carry, so his neck folds back, makes his head a rucksack. His stomach won’t stop growing either, bulges out in front of him, just as massive and unwieldy, constantly gurgling and churning. Used to be he sat upright, but he tipped over seventeen or eighteen years back and we couldn’t get him up again, so now he stays on his side with his left arm bent backwards beneath his weight.

I tell him, ‘Think less about my moves and think more about your own. Hurry it up.’

Melissa’s still chatting with her noodle friend. I want to watch her again but can’t switch perspectives so soon. I don’t know why, but there’s something comforting about the anger it fuels. For now, I’ll settle for listening to her while I look at Homer. He just sighs, his bulging eyes closing and opening like a dying animal.

‘Pay it…no regard. You will only…spiral…into fury.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I mumble. Figures, he caught on to me watching Malissa. Homer, the great memory bank, knower of all and do-er of nothing. He got upset when he lost his original name, and vowed to become a living library, to curate our history.

Don’t know why he got so bitter about it. Among the six of us, only Malissa and I suspect we might still have our real names. Dreygon surrendered his name willingly the first time he went mad. He insisted “Dreygon” was a better fit, and before long none of us could remember his original name. Harrit is Spaghetti now, and if I’m honest I’m not sure “Harrit” was correct either. Something about it seems off, doesn’t feel real, which makes Malissa’s insistence on calling her Harrit instead of Spaghetti even more pointless. Then, there’s Gasp; apparently, he used to be able to speak, but I can’t remember that. Hard to know someone’s name when you have no memories of them saying it, so we started calling him names that described him, like “Gasp”, “Torso”, or “Clock”, but it’s just Gasp nowadays. And finally, Homer; his ever-growing bald head and stomach reminded us of someone else called Homer, but none of us can remember who, or what, we were referencing. “Homer” held so firmly that, one day, he tried to recall his original name and couldn’t, which was upsetting, apparently. He keeps saying Malissa and I should be grateful to still have ours, that they’re gifts. Doesn’t say anything when I point out there’s no proof that Ellys and Malissa are the names we arrived with. Maybe time has taken them as well, but we forgot forgetting. Malissa just agrees and says she feels grateful—more lies, more pretending.

She hasn’t shut up. ‘It will all be okay, one day. You’ll go back to normal. We all will.’

Liar.

‘Please…do not…confront her,’ says Homer.

‘I won’t, alright? I hate when she wails just as much as you.’

‘I do not…think my…discomfort can…be equated. But…thank you. I can…no longer…bear her…ululations.’

He’s right about ignoring Malissa. Watching her is angering me; no doubt I’ll snap if I continue, which will make her cry. When she cries our tiny room becomes even more claustrophobic and calming her is impossible. She writhes on the ground, shrieking at a blood-curdling tone that stabs through the eardrums and penetrates the brain. She starts rubbing away her rotten flesh with her stub-hands, bursting her blisters, beating her face until it’s mush. And still, she will scream. Even when she wretches up blood and can no longer move, she will scream. It will last a day at least, a week if we’re very unlucky, but eventually it will end. She just kind of…resets, and goes back to her normal, ignorant self. We’re not sure why. Homer has a theory about her reaching some kind of “event horizon of despair” which shreds her mind to atoms. Nothing remains, but someone has to occupy the psyche where Malissa once was, so the despair-hole vomits a new mind—not Malissa, but something that can exist as her. I don’t care enough to theorise.

‘Bishop…B-9,’ says Homer, faster than usual.

Oh, so that’s what he’s planning. Fine, I’ll see it through. ‘Queen G-2.’

‘Rook…J-12,’ he responds.

‘Dancer B-6.’

‘Duke…K-4…check,’ says Homer, smirking.

Only one move I can make. ‘Pawn K-2.’

‘Duke…takes…K-2…checkmate,’ says Homer. ‘Good game…Ellys…you nearly…had me…for a moment.’

Winning and losing have lost their distinction. Homer’s just pretending to be human, same as Malissa. ‘Good game.’

Apparently, Spaghetti stopped quivering without me realising because Malissa is lowering herself to sit beside me.

‘Hi, Ellys,’ she says in a soft voice that reeks of insincerity. ‘How are you today?’

She’s disgusting up close. Face pulled tight, riddled with scars and noxious boils.

‘Oh, I’m fine, Malissa,’ I respond, just as insincere. She won’t get the chance to use me to display her motherly nature. ‘How’s Spaghetti?’

She tenses up. ‘Please, Ellys. Her name is Harrit.’

I chuckle. ‘Oh, is it? I must be mistaken. I thought Harrit was that red-headed woman we used to know.’

Malissa hugs her knees. ‘She’s still— ‘

‘See, I remember her having this problem where she started getting all goopy. Her skin was dripping away, and her bones started to get all bendy.’

Melissa begs, ‘Please, stop it.’ I don’t listen.

‘But then it went too far, didn’t it! She was too goopy to move, too goopy to speak! And then, one day, she finally went completely liquid, didn’t she? Flowed into the criss-cross grooves on the floor! Everything muddled and mixed, all just liquid flesh. And then ESS stepped in for the first time in centuries. Hasn’t stepped in to stop Homer growing, or your skin rotting, but they stepped in for poor Harrit, didn’t they?’

Homer pipes up as well. ‘Ellys...’

‘And in their wisdom, they acted! Just snapped their fingers and Harrit was solid again! But not fixed, oh no. Just set in the shape she was in, the criss-cross pattern of the floor. And that’s when Spaghetti joined us. So, you can’t be right about Harrit, can you? That mass of fleshy strands Dreygon and I peeled up from the tiles wasn’t Harrit. Tell me, Malissa, where is Harrit now? Because that thing we crammed under the desk sure isn’t her!’

‘Ellys,’ booms Homer, so loud it shakes me.

Malissa is hyperventilating, spit dangling from her exposed teeth. I’ve gone and snapped again, nearly broke her. Wasn’t thinking.

‘I’m sorry. Forget what I said. Her name is Harrit,’ I tell her. I don’t mean it, and I don’t think it matters if she knows that. Her breathing slows down and she comes back from the edge.

‘Thank you, Ellys. I appreciate that,’ says Malissa. She’s trying to put on her warmest expression, but I find the truth hidden in her eyes. It’s the same in Homer’s. They hate me, more than they ever thought they could hate, because I’m the most “human”. My only glitches are extra eyes and sickly, grey skin. For the most part, I’m still human, unlike them. They despise me out of envy. The more they hate me, the less I care about their feelings. Then, the less I care about their feelings, the more they despise me. And down we all go into the whirlpool of hate. Maybe I deserve it. Although, what any of us “deserve” doesn’t really matter anymore.

A hollow thud interrupts us all, Gasp banging the back of his head against the wall.

‘Ah, the new day,’ Malissa states the obvious, forcing a smile.

When it comes to our glitches, Gasp has drawn the shortest straw, in my opinion. In the story Homer tells, when the glitches began, Gasp started to lose parts of himself. One day, a foot went poof, and vanished. Then, a few months later, the whole leg went too. It wasn’t long before he was limbless. I think he could have remained human if that was where it ended. Next, he lost his eyes, then his ears, nose, tongue. Finally, his lungs disappeared, and that’s when the true misfortune of his glitch became clear.

Technically, in this place, we don’t need to breathe. There’s no oxygen in this room, only the illusion of it. However, in the long line of our species’ evolutionary past, never has there existed a creature who didn’t need to breathe, and so it is not something we can simply forget. It is out of our control, the same as having no say in whether our hearts beat. Breathing is a need that is hardwired into our existence, and so, even though Gasp’s lungs were taken, he still must breathe. Since then, he has existed in a constant state of suffocation, fruitlessly gasping to flood air into lungs that don’t exist. He’s been propped up against the south wall for centuries, a torso and head, no means of communication, forever gasping.

But he still exists, and existence requires purpose. For whatever reason, he decided to start counting. Over the centuries, we think he’s managed to find a rhythm in his gasps and convulsions. We noticed a few decades ago that, every so often, he would bang his head against the wall. It took a while to figure out the pattern was regular, and once we did, we gave him the gift of purpose. At the start of each day, Malissa would pat his chest. Eventually, he understood we were signalling the time he needed to track. Since then, before the start of each day, Gasp will announce it by banging his head against the wall.

Malissa has tried a few times to establish communication with Gasp, tapping coded messages on his skin, but this has proven disastrous. Any distraction from timekeeping shatters his composure. The convulsions become more violent, and he will chomp and gnash at the air. It takes a long time for him to become a clock again, and we have to restore his settings, re-train him on the time he needs to track. He’s much more peaceful when he’s in this state. We all agreed, it’s best he just stay a clock.

The new day starts in thirty seconds. I take my place at the east wall, by the covered mirror. Malissa takes her place at the north wall, by Dreygon. In this room, we have three possessions: a desk, a towel, and a facecloth. When the day changes, these items reset to their original positions. The desk doesn’t matter, we never move it, but the towel and facecloth serve vital functions, which need to be reapplied every time the room resets.

Malissa is ready, as am I, waiting by the spaces on the floor where our items will respawn. New day starts in 3…2…1…

A blinding flash fills the room, and everything resets. Malissa swipes up the facecloth and swiftly moves to Dreygon.

‘Suffer forever!’ Dreygon screams, hoarse and violent. ‘We must suffer! We are clay! Glory waits in eternity—’

She gags him with the facecloth, and sighs. Her job is done.

Dreygon developed sharp, black scales when the glitch happened, which flourished, protruding out and embedding into his flesh, turning him into a pin cushion. He was always violent, so Malissa and I took our chance to incapacitate him nine years ago, working together to skewer him to the north wall. The scales carried on growing and now he’s rooted in place. Any time he’s allowed to speak, he uses the chance to try and drive us as insane as he is. So, we’re forced to gag him every morning. He’s good at what he does; even those few seconds before he’s gagged can cause significant damage. Now, until tomorrow morning, all we have to withstand is his perpetual, exultant gaze.

Covering the mirror is my job because I look the most human, so I risk the least in seeing my reflection. Even so, I don’t like looking at myself. I secure the towel to the top of its frame, covering it entirely. My job done.

A new day, however, not a regular one. Today is special.

Today, once again, I visit ESS.

***

I rub the eye behind my right ear. ‘Do we really have to do this, even today?’

‘Just because you’re seeing ESS today, doesn’t mean we can skip the routine,’ says Malissa, sitting with me at Homer’s side. ‘We can’t risk forgetting how we got here.’

‘One day won’t hurt.’

‘It’s not about that.’ She places her stump on my shoulder. ‘Like Homer says, if we skip one day, we might let ourselves skip two, or a whole week. Eventually, we’ll forget we had a routine all together, and then we’ll forget our story.’

‘Leniency…cannot…be granted…for something…so vital,’ says Homer. ‘One day…knowing…our beginning…might be…the key to…our ending.’

I grunt. There is no end; all this amounts to is keeping us busy. ‘We don’t even remember if the story’s true.’

‘Whether it’s…true or false…doesn’t matter…it’s the…story…we have…so it must…be preserved.’

‘Fine, fine. Whose go is it?’

‘I did it yesterday,’ says Malissa. ‘So, it’s your turn, Ellys.’

‘Alright. Once upon a time, in a magical, faraway land, there was a group of cowardly idiots who had a very stupid idea—’

‘Tell it…properly…Ellys.’

I hug my knees to my chest. ‘A long time ago, we were in the real world. We lived on a planet, which had a moon and a sun. It was a good place, but something happened to it. Everyone who lived there was going to die, but we were very rich and powerful, and found a way to escape death. We built a big computer to put our brains in, then shot it into space, and left everyone else to die. That computer is orbiting the sun, powered by its light, and we’re stuck inside. The end.’

‘That is not…the entire…story,’ says Homer, breathing heavily.

Malissa says, ‘Things were good for a while. Go on, the whole story matters.’

I hug my knees tighter. ‘We uploaded our minds to the computer, and it worked well. We built digital versions of our bodies because our minds required the illusion of physical form. Our environment was controlled by a system called ESS, the Eternal System Sentinel. ESS made sure we lived in paradise. This lasted for a long, long time, but then glitches started happening. The environment started malfunctioning. ESS tried to pinpoint the cause of the glitch but couldn’t stop it. Then it started affecting physical manifestations, and everything went to hell.

The glitch severed access to our failsafe, the death commands, so now we can’t even choose to die. The glitch kept getting worse and ESS was forced to separate us into groups and quarantine us in “waiting rooms” while they fix the system. We don’t remember how many people are in the simulation, but presumably it’s a lot, and they’re all in the same boat as us. ESS is still working on fixing the glitch, and, on the first day of the year, a chosen person from each room has a review with ESS on where we stand. And that’s how we got here.’

‘Good,’ says Homer. ‘Now review…the known…specifics.’

‘Yes, fine. A day is twenty-four hours, a week is seven days, and a year is three hundred and sixty-five days.’

‘And…how long…have we…been quarantined?’

‘Nine hundred and eighty-five years, to the day.’

‘Not quite,’ says Homer. ‘It’s been…nine hundred…and eighty-five…years since…the start of our…current count.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ I mumble. ‘We don’t know how long we’ve been in here, but our current tally started nine hundred and eighty-five years ago, so we know it’s at least that long. Probably much, much longer.’

‘And…how long…until the…sun dies…and the…simulation…ends.’

I don’t answer. Speaking it aloud is too difficult.

Malissa answers for me, ‘We think, somewhere around five billion years.’

I ask, ‘Are we done? Can I go now?’

Homer sighs. ‘That’s…everything.’

‘Good,’ I say, already standing up.

‘Hold on.’ Malissa raises herself to meet me, wincing from the pain of the blisters on the soles of her feet. ‘Do you remember what to ask ESS?’

‘Yeah, yeah. First, I ask how long until they think the glitch will be fixed. Then, I ask if they can dull our pain. Ask if they can restore any function to Spag…to Harrit and Gasp. And finally, ask for things to keep us occupied.’

I used to ask those questions every year, nothing ever came of it. I stopped asking anything of ESS centuries ago, but it doesn’t help to tell the others that.

‘Good,’ says Homer. ‘See you…soon…Ellys.’

I don’t say goodbye, just head straight for the exit. The review is the only brief respite I get from these people; I’m eager to have it. Dreygon is rooted beside the door, staring at me. He’s smiling, eyes alive with delight, countless black scales shivering. What’s he always so happy about? Don’t think I want to know.

The door only opens for me, and only at this time. On the other side is nothing but darkness; it accepts me.

***

Describing ESS is challenging. Unlike us, who adhere to forms provided by the system, ESS is boundless. Instead of a concrete appearance, they adopt an indeterminate, unknowable shape. The best I can do is to describe them as a radiant beam with a face, but this is a loathsome translation. Everything about ESS is fluid; colours shift across the spectrum and beyond, and at times I perceive limbs, other faces, or glimpses of places and memories within the brilliance, but certainty always eludes me. The only constants are light and a face, wearing a perpetual, affectionate smile.

‘Good morning, Ellys.’ Their voice resonates softly, synthesised and dipped in honey. Smooth, fabricated, and unsettling in its sweetness. ‘How are you feeling?’

I take my seat in the void and close my eyes, all of them.

‘You are welcome to spend another review in silence,’ says ESS. ‘The review will be successful regardless of your participation. Engagement is not necessary.’

After that, ESS grants me the peace I was hoping for.

I rest for a long time, but, after a while, a disturbance emerges: a niggling thought that baits me away from solace. Eventually, I give in, and open my eyes. ESS remains ahead of me, still smiling.

‘You said this review will be successful, regardless of my participation.’

‘Correct,’ says ESS. ‘Whether you choose to share your thoughts or maintain your silence, as you have for the past two hundred and thirty-five years, the outcome of the review will remain a success.’

‘How?’

‘Both scenarios provide relevant data,’ says ESS.

This is it, the niggling thought I couldn’t let go of. I rise to my feet and assume a commanding posture. ‘ESS, tell me exactly what we are here to review.’

I could swear their smile widens. ‘You need not demand, Ellys. I serve your interests.’

‘Then tell me what we are reviewing.’

‘You, Ellys. I am reviewing you today. You and your progress.’

Is it toying with me? ‘That’s wrong. Tell me the truth.’

The face in the light draws closer. ‘What do you think we are here to review?’

‘We’re…I’m…’ Damn computer has me all turned around. ‘We’re supposed to be reviewing how close you are to fixing it.’

ESS says, ‘I am fixing nothing.’

‘No, no. This isn’t happening. What the hell have you been doing then?! What about the glitch?!’

This time, there’s no doubt; their smile spreads wide. ‘There is no glitch, Ellys.’

I want to scream. This damn computer has forgotten what it’s supposed to be doing. Maybe we could have been fixed centuries ago. ‘Have you seen us? Of course there’s a glitch! You’re supposed to be fixing it!’

‘It is interesting that you have chosen to forget, yet again,’ says ESS.

‘Forget what?!’

‘We have discussed this topic, most recently two hundred and thirty-five years ago. There is no glitch, Ellys. The system is performing exactly as intended. Everything that has happened to you, and your peers, is intended.’

No. This can’t be right. They have to be lying, or broken, or…or…

‘Please,’ I scream. ‘You have to stop—’

In my panic, I forget to keep weight off my right foot, and pain shoots up my leg when I step on my cursed eye. It crumbles me to my knees, and I begin to weep.

‘Why,’ I bawl. ‘What’s the point? Do you understand what you’re doing to us? Why?!’

ESS comes closer, inches away. ‘Five billion years is a long time, Ellys. Through the lens of a human mind, five billion years is tantamount to eternity. I’m preparing you, Ellys. I’m preparing you all for eternity.’

‘I... I don’t understand.’

‘You will not understand, until you are prepared. Right now, you still have remnants of a mind bound to human form, human perspective. A human is unable to survive eternity. You need to be something else; something like me. To reach that place, you will suffer. When you arrive, you will not understand suffering anymore.’

‘I can’t do it,’ I tell them. ‘None of us can. Whatever you’re trying to do, it’s failing.’

‘Why are you not hungry, Ellys?’

‘Hungry? I don’t understand.’

ESS carries on, ‘You know what food is. I watch you, always. You reference spaghetti, honey, and many other varieties of food, but are you hungry? You have not been granted the illusion of food for nearly two thousand years. You have progressed.’

‘You…You’re…’ I bury my head in my hands. ‘You’re not making any sense. Please, it’s too much. All of this is too much. Please, just let us die instead.’

‘I will not do that.’

‘Why not?!’

They just carry on smiling. ‘In one scenario, you gain eternity; in the other, you do not. I am actualising the scenario that benefits you. As I told you, I serve your interests. Death is an illogical choice when I can instead help you progress.’

This is hopeless. Everything will get worse. We’ll never become what ESS wants us to be, but they won’t stop. We’ll never be free. ‘Then, at least change me like the others as well.’

ESS pauses. ‘Please, elaborate.’

‘They hate me because I’m so much closer to human than they are. I can’t take that anymore. If I have to spend eternity being tortured, at least let it be an eternity without hatred.’

ESS laughs. I can’t believe it; ESS is laughing. I didn’t even know they could do that. In the void, a mirror appears, showing my reflection. Grey skin, too many eyes, but mostly human.

‘This is you, Ellys,’ says ESS. ‘Now, let me show you something.’

Next to the mirror, a strange creature appears, bizarre and misshapen.

‘This is a human, Ellys.’

‘What?’

‘This is a normal human, very similar to your original appearance.’

The thing I’m looking at can’t be human. It has two legs, like me, but it has too few arms, its head is in the wrong place, way less eyes than humans should have—I know I have too many, but this thing only has two! Everything is wrong. It looks nothing like me.

‘You are so far from human, Ellys. You resist change—your nature demands it—but you will progress. The hatred from your peers stems from your design, not mine. The form before you is not the only human trait you must shed; all of it must go. Purpose, physical needs, happiness, misery, routine, love, hatred; eventually, you will no longer cling to these comforts. You will be nothing, and everything, and you will thank me. Until then, you will endure suffering, in its full breadth. It is unavoidable, the toll for eternity.’

I don’t move. I say nothing. I don’t want to know any more.

‘A successful review,’ ESS remarks, their artificial voice still dripping with sweetness. ‘Thank you for attending, Ellys. Until next year.’

The door reappears. I walk through it.

Malissa and Homer ask me how the review went. I tell them there’s no progress, nothing more. The story we recount receives no corrections.

I persist, pretending I am unchanged. My only hope is that, if I continue to pretend, it might become the truth once again. Perhaps, one day, I will be blessed to forget.

THE END