Short Story: Hologram
Apr 27, 2022 1:06:51 GMT -6
via mobile
VioletJames, cyberbady, and 1 more like this
Post by Kappa on Apr 27, 2022 1:06:51 GMT -6
Inside a cold and dusty lab, the lights off, an old man sits in an electric wheelchair, a bottle of coconut rum in one wrinkled, age spotted hand, a remote control in the other.
In the background, a nostalgic song from his youth plays softly, his mind transported back to Yorkshire as his decrepit, old millennial body quivers and shakes.
With the click of a button, a young woman materializes upon his blanketed lap. Her slender left arm wrapped in the back of his chair, her right hand on his fuzzy, white beard.
A youthful face reminiscent of Olivia Rodrigo, ruby red hair in a short pixie cut, with olive skin smooth as butter and clear as the morning sky in scenic Tuscany. A tall woman, a height of 5ft6, her neck like a swan, her eyes a chestnut brown with white teeth accompanied by soft, kissable lips highlighted by two distinctively high dimpled cheeks.
She giggles, her long eyelashes aflutter, his heart racing with anticipation.
Tight acids wash skinny jeans with a floral white top and tan, tipped boots. Just like he remembered. A beauty to cherish.
The song nearing a bridge, his eyes batt, his throat hacked in confusion, his visuals, blurred by cataracts and alcohol, taking quite the time to notice wrinkles etching deep between her thinning lips.
He laughs, his eyes doing the best they can to admire her rounding face, her chin loose, a jiggling jowl, her neck crinkled and sagging into a turkey waddle.
With thinning skin, paled with time, blue veins brushed on her aging form, he is simply enamored as her hair dulls, getting whiter and whiter as her pruned body droops downward, her wardrobe adjusting to her matured figure.
"You're beautiful." He speaks with his Northern Accent.
"You flirt." She speaks with a warbled voice. Her bony, wrinkled hand once again brushing his fuzzy, white beard.
"It's you." He laughs.
"It's me." She nods slowly, replicating a movement common for a women of her projected age.
"It's dancing!" They sing together.
*CLICK*
The lights go on, the old woman vanishes.
A Scientist in a lab coat looks at his senior with a puzzled expression.
"You okay, Dave?"
Dave sits there, unresponsive, the song ending, his night's high finished.
In the background, a nostalgic song from his youth plays softly, his mind transported back to Yorkshire as his decrepit, old millennial body quivers and shakes.
With the click of a button, a young woman materializes upon his blanketed lap. Her slender left arm wrapped in the back of his chair, her right hand on his fuzzy, white beard.
A youthful face reminiscent of Olivia Rodrigo, ruby red hair in a short pixie cut, with olive skin smooth as butter and clear as the morning sky in scenic Tuscany. A tall woman, a height of 5ft6, her neck like a swan, her eyes a chestnut brown with white teeth accompanied by soft, kissable lips highlighted by two distinctively high dimpled cheeks.
She giggles, her long eyelashes aflutter, his heart racing with anticipation.
Tight acids wash skinny jeans with a floral white top and tan, tipped boots. Just like he remembered. A beauty to cherish.
The song nearing a bridge, his eyes batt, his throat hacked in confusion, his visuals, blurred by cataracts and alcohol, taking quite the time to notice wrinkles etching deep between her thinning lips.
He laughs, his eyes doing the best they can to admire her rounding face, her chin loose, a jiggling jowl, her neck crinkled and sagging into a turkey waddle.
With thinning skin, paled with time, blue veins brushed on her aging form, he is simply enamored as her hair dulls, getting whiter and whiter as her pruned body droops downward, her wardrobe adjusting to her matured figure.
"You're beautiful." He speaks with his Northern Accent.
"You flirt." She speaks with a warbled voice. Her bony, wrinkled hand once again brushing his fuzzy, white beard.
"It's you." He laughs.
"It's me." She nods slowly, replicating a movement common for a women of her projected age.
"It's dancing!" They sing together.
*CLICK*
The lights go on, the old woman vanishes.
A Scientist in a lab coat looks at his senior with a puzzled expression.
"You okay, Dave?"
Dave sits there, unresponsive, the song ending, his night's high finished.