White Noise
There it is again, in the corner of your vision. A bit of tv static in your periphery. You can only see it sometimes, like letting your eyes unfocus while you're looking at a white surface. It was normal, once, but you had your analog oculars swapped out for digital encoders years ago. It must have almost been a decade at this point, although you didn't like to admit it. Somehow, the fuzzy interference lingered in your new digital optic sensors, frequencies forgotten by time echoing on your visual display in real-time.
You give your arm and fingers a flex. Whisper-quiet servos, without a trace of the loud old hydraulics. It seems that just your eyes are doing it.
Some say that memories can be stored in your body. The things you've seen and done, or have been done to you, live in places other than cognitive processing organs. Some wayward chunk of RAM stored in that one component that you cant quite bear to replace, or else the paradox of Theseus' Ship will give you an identity crisis. A flickering indicator, a panel that never stays latched, a glitching eye.
Some call it "the ghost in the machine". But it's easy for those people to romanticize things when they don't have to live with it.
Another signal, center view. You were lost in thought, thinking about the past tends to aggravate the static. The more you think about it the more you notice it. You won't be able to keep your focus until this episode passes. You walk to the window, gaze out into the middle distance of a weary summer evening, and watch the snow dance behind your lenses.
