For the hundredth time I start with the toe.
По стоти пат почнувам со прстот на ногата.
Her cute little toes with nails polished red. The ankle and the pale scar bisecting it. Her pretty feet, sprouting legs spindly like cigarettes.
Нејзините слатки мали прстиња со црвени излакирани нокти. Зглобот и избледената лузна која го дели на две. Нејзините убави стапала, од кои никнуваат нозе истенчени како цигари.
A torso pops into existence, stretching up and out the legs. Beautiful round breasts.
Се оформува торзо, од нозете, издолжено над нив. Прекрасни топчести (округли?) гради.
Memory fragments sculpt her shoulders, her neck, her head. Curly hair blossoms from her scalp. Blue piercing eyes swirl into focus.
Делчиња од меморија ги вајаат нејзините рамења, нејзиниот врат, нејзината глава. Кадрава коса извира од нејзиниот скалп. Сини продорни очи испливуваат (?) во фокус.
Assembled from memory shards in a collage of actions and facial expressions, Miriam’s smiling as she’s smiled a million times before. She caresses my cheek.
Составена од распрснати парчиња меморија во колаж од постапки и изрази на лицето, Миријам се смее како што се има смеено милион пати претходно. Го погалува мојот образ.
“Moment of truth,” she says, perfume wafting in her wake.
I say, “This time, please stay.”
“Can’t promise anything.”
I burn her shape and face and voice in my mind and open my eyes.
In the darkness my computer screen blinks stupidly. A dozen pop-ups fight for my attention, the leaves of my plastic ficus reflect their colors.
I look around, hopeful, not daring to move an inch.
“Miriam?”
No one replies.
I stand up, stretch my legs, toss my mat back in the closet. Slumping into the swiveling chair I press J on the keyboard, prompting a yellow pad to appear. Under today’s date I type, Creating a tulpa – unsuccessful.
The square of screen-light dances on walls, dims, then disappears as the computer powers down.
I rest my head on the desk.
I should give up. Drop everything and get on with my life and just – give – up. But banging my head on the desk I remember there’s method to my madness. I remember the pain and curiosity which made creating her tulpa the focus of my life these past few years. I remember it’s a bit late for second thoughts and giving up.
I get up, grab my mat and assume the lotus position again.
I’ll power through if I have to.
Through the nose I breathe in a visualized ball of relaxing white light which swirls round my belly, then I exhale that energy out the mouth.
Breathe in through the nose. Breathe out the mouth. Breathe in through the nose –
My gut freezes.
How’s that possible? A remnant, maybe?
Vanilla, and I haven’t even begun visualizing. It can’t possibly be –
Darting through the hallway after the scent, I end up at my apartment door.
Black globs swim in my vision, the door wobbles, the hallway tightens.
A pessimistic voice in my head suggests the perfume must belong to my new neighbor, a Mrs. something or other, but before I can convince myself of that, a knock comes.
I reach out, open the door.
Miriam’s standing there, smiling as she’s smiled a million times before.