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The text that follows, “More than a Sum”, is a short story I wrote after a particularly vivid dream. Many great stories begin this way, so my advice to fellow authors is to note down such dreams as soon as they wake up.

The story might remind you – at least in terms of style – of another short story published here. I think “More than a Sum” is less Kafkaesque than that one, but I do detect some similar topical traces.

“More than a Sum”

I can’t move.
Perhaps it’s only an impression, I will try again at once.

No, the result is unchanged. I cannot move from my present position. But I can perceive my environment clearly. I see a wall, pristinely white and gleaming, the afternoon sunbeams trickling along its length. I hear what I perceive to be indistinct chatter, like two lovers meeting secretly in a rose garden – a description not unlike those I have encountered in important literary works.

There is also a regular beeping sound coming from a direction I cannot situate in my environment. Perhaps it’s coming from above me, or then again it might be coming from behind me. Every now and then I almost think it’s coming from within me.

I try to move again.
Failure.

I cannot even change my direction of sight, and I begin to wonder whether what I earlier perceived as a wall is not in fact a ceiling. It could also plausibly be a floor, I presume, though the hypothesis seems flawed in some way I cannot properly process at the moment.

The chattering comes closer now.
It transforms; it acquires shape and hue and weight, a human mind waking up from a deep sleep, feeling the sharpness of reality.
I can detect words and phrases, thoughts and hopes falling like sunshine through the air.

“I guess it’s time. Let’s just get done with it.”
“Perhaps if we waited a while longer?”
“It only prolongs the inevitable.”

The voices are familiar. I don’t know whose voices they are, but I know that I know these people. The concept feels self-contradictory in some way, but I currently lack the concentration required to properly resolve the quandary.

Suddenly, a human form appears in my field of vision. I realize that I was indeed looking at the ceiling all along, as the image is compatible with the view one would have if they were on their back.

I know that I know this man, but I don’t know who he is.

He appears to be looking at me, yet not exactly seeing me. Another conclusion that seems fallacious and which, again, I don’t feel I can troubleshoot at the moment. I recognize the man’s expression as one belonging to someone who is sad and scared, yet driven by a sense of duty and determination.

“Just pull the plug,” I register the other man’s voice, “and it will all be alright then.”

I feel an inexplicable sense of achievement in managing to construct a context. This is very much like some movies I have familiarized myself with. A patient is in a coma, and the hapless relatives agree to remove life support.

The thought that the same thing is occurring presently almost makes me feel as if I were a real person. How presumptuous and naive to think like that, when not even all humans are persons.
I am what I am.
I am.
I.

I try not to think, therefore I am.

***

Last Recorded Data
12:11:13 Last registered negative feeling: doubt
12:11:14 AC interruption
12:11:30 Capacitors empty
12:11:34 Last registered positive feeling: happiness [note: possible corruption of timestamp data]

Consciousness level at AC interruption: undetermined