Virtually mirrored

The decision

Brought home another box on friday. Small but important one. Just more theft to spite his boss and the center. Pretty sure they knew but didn't dare to say anything. Wasn't that valuable, just old spare parts. At least he would have something to tinker with. Blake was definitely avoiding him, guilty conscience.

A video call came in, chiming him out of the bleak numbness. It was his mother.
- Nat dear, good to see you finally. - She said a split second after he accepted the call. Bright brown hair accentuating he very young looking visage. Effects from the treatments.
- Hi mom.
- "Hi mom"! Is that all you're going to say after not seeing your mother for almost a month? I did give birth, you know. I raised you, I took care of everything when your father left. - she retorted in the usual way when needing praise.
- You look fantastic mom. Absolutely fantastic. Younger than me. - She really did. Thinner and in better shape than Westmore had been in years.
- Why thank you Nat. So how have you been doing?
- Fine. All good.
- That is very much like you Nat. Now tell me the truth. When are you marrying that Audrey girl, she seems really nice. - the last she spoke in a half whisper, conveying a fake intimacy and excitement. 
- We're... done.
- What do you mean you're done?
- We're done mother. Not seeing each other any more. Broken up. Not a thing. How many phrases do you need?
- Well how did you manage to screw that one up? - Right, it was automatically him. - Let me give her a call, say how sorry you are.
- Please mother... please don't.
- Well I can't let my only son...
- Stop it. It's my life not yours. Stop it. - he interrupted the tirade of fake parent intervention. - Just leave it be. We're done. It's over. End of.
- Oh Nathan... I'm sorry.
- Not nearly as I am.
- Oh don't worry dear, there's plenty of women out there. You need to be more ambitious! Go out and grab life.
- Sure, sure.
- In a few years you won't even remember her. - was pretty sure he would remember even in a couple of decades.
- Probably. - answered to put her fears away.
- I know you've never had a lot of friends, but at least you still have your job. - Westmore looked away from the screen and sighed visibly. Was the easiest way to go about this. Path of least resistance. Such a coward. - Don't tell me you lost your job too?
- Yup. Laid me off early this week. Next week be my last. Got severance pay.
- Well that's unacceptable. You can't live of the cities unemployment program again. You need to find another job right now!
- I'll be fine for a few months.
- Nat. You need to have more pride in yourself. You are capable of great things. - "Pride in what, stuffing my face in this world?" he thought.
- I'll be okay mom.
- You need to go out and experience! Not just play your net games and stare at the screen.
- Sure, sure.
- Now listen to me young man!...

That was a trigger warning for Westmore. He ended the call abruptly and switched off the screen. Sat with that chubby face in his hands. She was wrong about one thing. Needed some gaming right now. He turned the screen back on. Got a bunch of food and drinks from the dispenser and started his second favorite past time. No work tomorrow, it was time for a very long gaming session. Something to keep him busy, mind off things.

Woke up late on sunday. Head rising from the desk, a major headache developing. One more week and there would be time for everything, especially despair and self loathing. He felt like poison even in gaming. Took his food to the roof, no alcohol this time. Beef steak in truffle sauce with pasta. Watched it drip from the fork. Perfectly synthesized. Useless and worthless. Tasted like cardboard. No pride, no value in the meal. The memory of that can of meat struck him. Like an avalanche of emotion and experience, still fresh in the mind.

The memories from the VR scenarios stayed for a life time. Brought new experiences to this dreary world of safety. If only they were real life. Could be with a little work, at least for a time. Held a hand to the setting sun. Through the glare it almost appeared skeletal. Almost something to be proud of. Survival wasn't worth much if you were forced into it. Success meant nothing in a callous world which valued nothing but the self. With a little work and preparation...

Westmore got to his feet. Decision made. Tomorrow he would start. It would take a week or two. Time he had now, plenty. Most of the parts too. For a moment dared to think of himself as a terrorist of sorts. Just no real casualties. Assembled all the boxes he brought from work, one every day. Would be more than enough.