The Benediction Project
It started with manipulation. A woman in disheveled gray clothing, sobbing, face down in a grim and black alley, shadowy figures lurking just within reach. Then suddenly, light exploded, leading the way for a man clothed in glistening white. His brightness covered the woman, illuminating her surprised smile as he helped her stand.
Then the proper introduction from a warm, perfectly feminine voice: This is the Benediction Project. A neurological implant to replace your darkest experiences with brighter memories. Their logo, a shield engraved with a torch, centered on the screen. The video continued but Sophia couldn’t see it. She had closed her eyes, breathing in a steady rhythm. She felt Chase watching her. The only sound he made was the soft thumps of his fingers drumming on the wooden table.
He wore orange this morning, paired with blue jeans. Usually, he rolled out of bed in ragged pajamas and kept going. She wanted this. To see him care. About himself, or her, or life. About anything at all.
But for the right reasons.
“Was this supposed to change my mind?” Sophia scoffed, eyes opening as she swung around, leaving the dining table. Chase sighed, head in hands. A ridiculous start to the morning. She searched the kitchen cabinets for something brown to add to her coffee. The hypocrisy slapped the notion out of her mind. Unhealthy coping got both of them here. Jobless and peace searching. Instead, she clutched her mug, resisting the urge to chuck it at his skull.
He sighed heavily, glancing at her. “It’s different for you. You were in the closet. You didn’t see it like I did.” Shaky breaths. He was remembering. She was too. The small space, the weight on coats and blankets crushing her tiny form. The darkness had been smothering. Screaming and loud bangs ripped through the air. Then silence.
“You have no idea what it’s like for me.” The words snuck past her lips. She dropped the mug in the sink, the coffee splattered along the metal lining and the counter. She left it and walked out of the room, her brother’s voice followed her. Stupid, vapid words about NeuroPacify and their Benediction Project. Old knowledge. He knew she had worked there and all but fled after a few months. She reached the bedroom and slammed the door in his face.
Chase knocked on it as if she would let him in, “Don’t you want to sleep at night? Instead of remembering the same horrors every time you close your eyes?” He sounded muffled behind the wooden divider.
Sophia ignored him. They’ve had this conversation and she didn’t want a repeat. Sure, the memories had crept up now. She had sat in the closet for three days, wondering if she would ever be found. If she would die. Sophia had only been five when her brother shoved her in the closet, placing soft objects on her to keep her hidden. But she came out significantly older, trapped in a child’s body, having learned a lifelong lesson. She was resilient. That’s how she survived. The understanding came to her slowly, but she thrived on it during hard times.
Didn’t need a damn brain implant to achieve this. Honey brown eyes focused on the reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a nest, a possessed one at that. She would start there.
“They can do anything with the memory. Replace it or just delete it. I’ll never have to see them die again!” Chase was shouting now because he knew all the exact ways to annoy her. This, though, was a bit different. His voice had a warmth to it, burning with excitement. It dragged her across the linoleum wood floor beneath her bare feet. She cracked the door, just a little. His eyes were wide with hope. His brown ponytail shook with his animation as he kept talking. Combed for once. She smiled, happy to see a fragment of his usual self.
“The brain isn’t a computer,” She said, letting the door swing open as she returned to her mirror. “Memories aren’t lined up and displayed so you can manipulate them.”
“I’ve only heard good things,” He said as if that was remotely the point. He followed so closely, he bumped into her. An accident, but she slapped his arm in offense anyway.
“Chase, it’s a neuro implant. Maybe they have to say good things,” Sophia said, snatching her brush from the dresser.
“I’m worried about you too.” Her brother plopped on the bed, arms crossed. “You quit everything you start and put yourself in these situations for no reason.” A letter wiggled into his hand. One of many that was adorned with large, red, intimidating letters stating: OVERDUE NOTICE.
Yes, quitting so abruptly hadn’t been her wisest decision. But jobs were plentiful and eventually, she’d squeeze into one. She yanked the letter out of his hand. It had been hidden and she didn’t see him snoop it out.
“This is different,” She said, sitting beside him. “I’m not kidding. Those people, they’re shady. I told you, the files are stored and kept—”
“Of course they are!” Chase said, interrupting her. Hand flailing. “They watch out for the customer. Sometimes people decide they want their memories back so they keep them for a year before they’re deleted forever.” Chase was never this persistent with anything; he sounded like a brainwashing victim.
Hell, he probably was.
“These files were old!” Sophia said, grabbing his arm, wishing so deeply he would listen to her for once, “And that’s not how the brain works! It’s complex and physical. It’s an organ! You can’t manipulate it without consequences!” Her brother sighed, slumping forward on his elbows. Quiet and thinking. She hoped he was thinking anyway. He was too smart to fall for something this obviously stupid. She had started college and gave up halfway through. But Chase? He took on double the coursework to graduate early and gave the valedictorian speech at graduation.
Then he tore himself apart, for seemingly no reason. She wanted to see him shine again. But not like this, not through some scummy illusion.
“If you want to pretend to be okay, Sophia, fine. I can’t make you seek help,” Chase said, as he stood, “But I can’t live like this anymore.”
“Then don’t!” Sophia said, shooting up like an umbrella, “There are so many ways to heal. Proven ways that actually make sense.”
“I talked to a representative,” Chase said, “They showed me the statistics and the success stories—”
“I’m the representative you should listen to!” Sophia all but yelled, “I worked there. I ran away as fast as I fucking could!”
“You always run away!” Chase said, scrubbing his face with his hands, “Every job, there’s always some imaginary problem. The real problem is overflowing in your fucking cabinets.” He stabbed a finger in the direction of the kitchen, “You have more alcohol than food!”
She glared at him, jaw set, fist clenched. Not angry with him, for once. Upset with the truth.
“You’ve already started the process, haven’t you?” She asked, forcing him to face his own reality. He huffed, arms crossing. But he said nothing. Her suspicions were confirmed. Why else would he have come here, so adamant about something they settled months ago? “You could have told me.”
“Why? So you could tell me what a terrible decision I’ve made.” He spoke but didn’t face her. Good. He should feel ashamed for lying to her so deeply.
“If you want to butcher your brain, Chase, that’s your decision.” Sophia turned, facing the mirror, and started brushing.
“I’m not hurting myself, I’m finding peace,” He said, shaking his head as he walked towards the door, “You should do the same.” He disappeared. She heard his footsteps and then the front door opening and closing.
Her lip quivered as she moved the brush down her long, thick strands. This was always going to be how it ended. Two years ago, a friend of his underwent the process, claiming it changed his life. Never really mentioned how; just implied it had been a good thing. She had been skeptical, but she was leery of everything. Her brother ignored her. So she researched the company and what better way to learn more than their employment? A year ago, she was hired under the condition she would sign an NDA. Selfish, undoubtedly, but the only person she wanted to save was her brother. Her name was easily scribbled along the solid black line.
Six months later she quit. Sophia told her brother everything. The plethora of customer complaints, from chronic migraines to sobbing loved ones screaming that their relatives didn’t remember them anymore. He explained it all away. Every cure had a side effect. Nothing is perfect. She heard it all and not a single excuse made any sense.
Chase was too smart to be so dumb. But could she blame him? The memories stalked her too. She could be hanging out with her friends and see a small, dimly lit space and phantom screams would surround her, closing in. His nightmares were worse than hers. He would wake up screaming or thrust himself out of bed. They got so bad, sometimes he was afraid to sleep.
Maybe she was holding him back. Too cautious for either of their own good. Maybe she was the dumb one. Chase was smarter than her, wiser. He has done his own research, surely. Deemed it safe enough. It could work and he would sleep through the nights, becoming a blossoming and happy person. They could laugh about how silly she had been.
Her big brother would be back. Better than ever.
Sophia wiped her eyes, catching her reflection in the rearview mirror. Thin lines gathered along her eyes and mouth now. Ten years had slipped through her fingers, no grip tight enough to catch them. The memory tried to sneak behind her eyes for another viewing but she pushed it away.
The regret lingered though, a foul inescapable stench. If only she had stuck to her suspicion. She should have run out of the room and tackled her brother, held him down, and made him promise to stop the process. Instead, she had combed her hair into a bun and went job searching.
Chase looked over at her but she averted her eyes. He hated to see her cry. They were at an intersection so it seemed she was watching for traffic. Why was she even crying? She made peace with it long ago.
“I remember you,” Chase said, “I always remember you.” Sitting so still beside her. He had always been the good kid growing up. Quiet and obedient, contrasting with her loud, messy, and noisy antics. He wasn’t a kid right now, why wasn’t he talking? Had barely said anything the entire trip. Maybe he was a teenager.
Sophia glanced at him, glad he was leaning against the window, looking out. He wouldn’t see her red eyes. Still, she wished he would say something. She couldn’t gauge his age when he was silent. The implant’s side effects had shown themselves almost immediately. He could be any age at any time. Sometimes he only remembered the first ten years of his life, sometimes even less. Never younger than five, thankfully.
“I didn’t say anything,” Sophia said, turning the wheel when the light changed. The courthouse was in the distance. The chance for justice had been a long, bitter wait. Customers had to sign NDAs to enter the program, along with all sorts of fancy-worded papers that emphasized they assumed all risks. But NeuroPacify’s marketing had been manipulative, targeting those who were too traumatized to think clearly. The victims piled up, too many to quiet. Finally, they would be heard.
“Do you remember why we’re here?” Sophia asked, pulling into the parking lot. He nodded but remained silent. She hated when he got like this. They got out of the car, ambling to the entrance.
“We’ll win this, I’m sure,” She said, knowing he’d listen just because she was speaking, “Then when we get the settlement, we’ll get the implant taken out.” She looped her arm around his, looking up at him. He still wore ponytails but a cow had licked his temples.
Sophia knew she spoke too lightly to be believed. After ten years, the implant had settled in deeply. Removing it could end in tragedy. She refused to think about it. Reality had taken everyone she loved. Now, she needed hope.
Chase huffed, shaking his head, “I’d rather you take the money and dump me in a nursing home.” She gasped, feet planting on the pavement. He stopped beside her, looking down, “I didn’t want you to…” He blinked, brow furrowed. The thought was forgotten before he could speak it. Good. She would never do something so terrible.
He pressed his palm in his eye, wincing, face scrunched, “I never meant to waste your life.” His voice was strained. Chronic migraines. Her heart ached; she looked away. Sophia couldn’t watch him suffer. The memory loss was bad enough.
“Stop that, don’t try to remember. It’ll make it worse.” Sophia looped her arm around his again, squeezing his limb in reassurance. His eyes squinted, shaking under her touch. The migraines were always so punishing. She kissed his shoulder, urging him along.
Ready for justice.
Hello! I am a Graphic Designer by trade but I have loved reading and writing since I was a child. I hope you enjoy my works!