Eternal

The world seemed so quiet in that moment. She sat without speaking, wringing the edge of the sheets in her hands. Their over-bleached roughness was a reminder of where she was. She couldn't have spoken even if she'd tried. Seeing him laying in the bed, IVs hanging from his arms, completely gone, made her feel like she was drowning, like her throat was closing up.

Aaron's arms were limp at his sides. She lightly grazed his hand with her thumb and remembered him as a baby. He was so loud, and little, and perfect. She could still see his tiny fingers with their delicate little nails like it was yesterday.

Annabeth had begged him not to go through with the procedure.

"Mom," he'd said, "There's no need to worry! They do some scans; upload them; double check the system reads the files and, just like that, you're good to go!"

His blue eyes sparkled with excitement. It was in that moment that her heart gave up on the issue.

The vizprojector in the corner of the room flicked to a commercial.

They'd announced the advent of uploaded consciousness ten years ago; she'd been 45 and idealistic.

Annabeth had been in government as a representative for a full term, going on her second with a landslide of support backing her up when the EternaLife regulations came up for debate. Finally feeling like she'd be able to both understand the nuances of her work and use the relationships she'd built the previous two years, she'd taken the announcement in stride, despite the way it made her cringe internally. She was on the Medical Technology Subcommittee and was a leadership liaison. Surely the combination would be useful and she would be instrumental in the upcoming debate on the EternaLife Uploaded Consciousness technology.

The battle had been hard fought, she could say that. Papers, interviews, sessions going late into the night had taken up almost four years of her life. She'd cried when the ban failed; she'd cried as she packed her office; she'd cried when Aaron's backpack had fallen open and spilled EternaLife information pamphlets on her kitchen floor.

The beeping of the heart monitor kept going, but he was gone.

A representative from the facility came in to explain what would happen next. He sat down next to her. His elbows rested on his knees as the representative tried to make some semblance of eye contact. He babbled something about algorithms starting and processing power. She couldn't help but notice how very young he was. His hair was cut close to the scalp and his skin still untouched by age.

He reached to touch her hand. She thought she might scream. She didn't.

"Mom," said the speakers. Aaron himself had not moved. He wasn't going to walk through the world again.

Annabeth stood, walked to the door. Her hand rested on the door frame. Her knuckles blanched for half a second before the hand slid down and came to rest at her side.