The future was here.  It arrived on my doorstep.

I heard the doorbell ring and sprung out of bed.  After running down the hall and answering the door, I was greeted by the postman, who looked at me in slight disgust because I was dressed only in my underwear.

He shoved a box with a pink slip laying on top into my arms.oculus1“I need you to sign for this.”

“Do you have a pen?” I asked.

Without a word, the mail carrier reached into his shirt pocket and presented me with a grease-covered pen.  I hastily signed my name.  He snatched the pen and slip from me.

“Have a good afternoon,” he said.

I slammed the door and ran back into my room with the box under my arm.  It was finally here: the latest Oculus Rift.  I threw the grimy cardboard box onto my unmade bed and ripped open the packaging.  Soon, I had in my hands the device itself, a USB 3.1 cable, and a manual with printed instructions on where to download the appropriate drivers.  There was also a card with safety precautions, which I ignored.

I woke my computer from sleep by frantically jiggling the mouse.  My desk shook.

The drivers took about thirty minutes to download.  It was plenty of time for me to grab some potato chips and a pop tart for breakfast.  Once I had the executable downloaded, it was just a matter of time before I had the Oculus Rift fully up and running.

There was a new feature that allowed a user to explore their entire computer in 3D space.  All of their programs and files were fully accessible from within the virtual world the device presented to you.  I double-clicked the icon on my desktop to begin.  My monitor turned completely black with white text in the center.


I strapped the device to my face.  Suddenly, I was immersed in a black void with only a white grid to represent the floor beneath my feet. Before me were five doors.  Four represented my libraries: documents, photos, music, and videos.  The fifth was labeled for programs.

To my right, there was a door with a Steam logo.

To my left, there was a round blue portal.  Through it, I could see different colored cubes.  I decided to step into it.

The cubes represented my bookmarks.  If I had an option for going elsewhere, it wasn’t immediately visible to me.  The blue cube demanded the most of my attention, and I couldn’t say why.

It looked simple enough.  It hovered above the grid.  Upon its sides were “like” icons.  It was drawing me in.


I touched my hand upon its surface.  My eyes widened, and a barrage of information flooded my mind.

Baby pictures.

Smiling faces.

Wedding photos.

Republican and libertarian memes.

I couldn’t stop the flood.  They were filling my head.

Months later, I awoke in a hospital bed.  I can’t remember much of my life prior to the incident.  Doctors have told me that most of my memories have been overwritten by the baby pictures and memes.  I no longer feel that I am fully human.  Instead, I am merely a catalog of useless information.

Heed my warning, and don’t touch the blue cube.