To call this elegant metropolis "The City of the Ape" does it a considerable disservice, but it is impossible to avoid. Every time we speak of something being as old as the Ape, we reaffirm the ... [+]
Madeleine Pelletier lives in a farmhouse near Montreal with three cats, six goats and one grumpy old man. Her work has been featured in The Arcanist, Sundial, and WOW! Women on Writing. @mad_pelletier on X and @madpelletier.bsky.social "Unwrapping" is in Short Circuit #14, Short Édition's quarterly review.
The DeliverBot drops the box at my feet and wheezes out a metallic "Happy Birthday" before flying away. At first, I think it's a mistake, because it isn't my birthday. At least, I don't think it is. But the bot said my name, and other than my arrival at Lethe Colony a year ago, there's not much in my past I do remember. I guess my birthday could be today just as easily as any other day.
I place the box on the table. It sits there, cryptic and unnerving, as I change out of my work clothes. I dump my dust-stained uniform in the LaundryBot and move to the decontamination shower. It is harsh and punishing, same as every day.
Raw and red, I stand in front of the bathroom mirror. Scars from injuries I can't remember cover my body. There is stubble on my chin and my hair is white and wooly. I wonder how many birthdays I've had, then push the thought away. If it was important, I'd already know.
FoodBot delivers my dinner, right on schedule. I like it when things stay the same.
I don't like this box.
An arrow on its side points to a string next to a sticker that says PULL. I don't like that either. Too pushy. I refuse to look at the box while I eat.
After dinner, I sip tea and rub my thumb over the flower tattooed on my forearm, a nervous habit I've had for as long as I can remember. I don't know why rubbing this yellow daisy soothes me. I don't even remember getting the tattoo.
I pick up the box, stand, determined to throw it in the TrashBot, but my feet refuse to move, and I set it back on the table. There's something about this box. I feel as if I don't have a choice.
Deep breath. I pull the string.
The box top flips open and the sides fall away, revealing a black cube with several buttons. I press the button that says START and a hologram is projected above me: WELCOME TO YOUR PARTY IN A BOX! spelled out in fireworks.
Why would anyone send this to me?
A button is flashing. I push it. The birthday song blasts from a speaker and a hole opens in the cube's top. A yellow balloon emerges and inflates, growing bigger and bigger until it bursts, spraying glitter and confetti all over.
I sputter and spit out sparkly grit as CleanBot darts from the wall to suction the mess.
Another button flashes. I hesitate, then push and jump back. No explosions this time. Music. A love song, spirited and sophisticated, filled with harmonic complexities. A song I've never heard, and yet I know it by heart. It leaves a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and sounds alarm bells in my head.
This was a mistake. I don't want to do it anymore. But when the next button flashes, I can't stop myself from pushing.
The lights in my pod dim and a hologram couple dances around my head. It's a younger version of me, arms wrapped tightly around a stunning woman, swaying to the rhythm of the love song. She's wearing a white dress.
More buttons flash. The cube splits in two and pushes out a blue envelope and a small, gift-wrapped box.
Inside the envelope is an old-fashioned birthday card with familiar handwriting.
Happy Birthday!
I know this will come as a surprise, because that's how I planned it. Or you planned it. For I am you, and you are me, and today is our birth day. Not the day we were born, but the day we were reborn. The day we can be reborn again, if that's what you want.
But before you make that choice, you must understand what you are choosing.
My arms tingle. I look down and see goosebumps. I touch the tattoo.
Once upon a time, we had friends and family, a happy life on Earth.
The cube projects videos around the room. Young me and the woman, dancing to the same song, this time in a garden filled with flowers. The video changes to the woman with two little girls, then me, us together, laughing and splashing on a beach. More scenes, more people, more joy. The girls getting bigger; the woman growing more charming with age. I wish I could remember her name.
Our wife, our daughters, our heart. Everything was perfect.
Until the Ice War.
We didn't want to fight, but the government gave us no choice. We were drafted. And doomed.
The images change, color bleeds away. The garden is empty, plants withered, the house a burned-out husk. More scenes of destruction, soldiers marching, men dying.
My head hurts. I yell at the cube to stop, pound it with my fist, but the videos keep playing. I search the birthday card for a clue, some way to end this nightmare.
We lost the war. Six years we were gone. Three more to make our way home and learn what happened to our family.
Photos cover the walls and ceiling. An internment camp, women lined up. Young girls, my girls, hanging from ropes. My beloved wife's body, rail-thin and black and blue, lying naked and lifeless in a ditch.
It hits me like a torpedo, a flaming spear straight to my soul. I retch, vomit, crumple to the ground. CleanBot bumps against my feet, as dead bodies float above me and memories nip at my mind.
I squeeze my eyes shut to stop the tears. I smother my feelings, choke them before they can take hold. In and out, in and out, I control my breath until I'm able to pull myself up. The card is still in my hand.
A life filled with ghosts is no life at all, so I chose something different. Someplace different. Lethe Colony. 200 million miles and one PharmaBot pill, and we were reborn as nothing.
That was my choice. But it is not my life anymore. It is yours.
Time to open your present.
I unwrap the gift. A different kind of box, smooth and transparent. Inside, are two compartments, two pills, labeled REMEMBER and FORGET.
I trace my fingers over the yellow flower on my forearm.
Daisy. Her name was Daisy.