Rewind

Starting over may mean a complete reset. -Michelle Liew

********************************************************************

In a frenzied corner of a bustling city stood Rewind and Repair. A tiny tech shop run by reclusive software engineer Bob, its speciality was the fix it - repairing unfixable hard drives, mobile phones and out-of-the-box gadgets with sentimental value.

As the city lit up with fireworks and resounded with lively countdowns on New Year’s Eve, a man with a crushed smartwatch rushed into the shop. “I need to do something about this.” His hoodie clung to him, soaked by the pouring rain.

Bob shot him a skeptical gaze. “Now? It’s almost midnight.”

“I’ll pay you anything.” The man was insistent. “This watch holds my year. My life. It tracks my texts, calls, photos. It needs a do over.”

Curious, Bob hooked the smartwatch to his diagnostic rig. Code flickered across his computer like an angry heartbeat. “The data’s corrupted,” he announced. “I can try to restore it, though. But I will need to reset it. You’ll get to start over. But a reset comes with the risk of memory fragments. Personality flaws. Things could go wrong.”

“That’s fine. I made a bunch of mistakes this year and want them erased anyway. Please. Just…erase them.”

Bob reluctantly punched a few keys, his fingers gracing the keyboard in an electronic dance. The smartwatch rebooted at midnight, with him watching it transform. The man gasped as his surroundings and pixels rearranged themselves.

He found himself on January 1st of that year, his life rewound. It was perfect at first- he avoided arguments with his wife and rebuilt bridges with his family. As the months passed, however, strange things happened. He forgot where he lived. His mother called him by a different name, as if she didn’t recognize him.

His reflection on his videos didn’t sync with his movements by the time summer came around. He noticed that people were dismissing him - behaving as though he wasn’t there. He was a weightless hologram by December.

He floated into Bob’s shop on New Year’s Eve, little more than a ghostly outline. “Bob, what’s wrong with me?”

His eyes fixed on the computer screen, the tech expert answered, “Data erasure. You delete parts of yourself when you get rid of old data.”

The man dissolved into static by midnight,his body unraveling. His smartwatch clattered to the floor. Bob picked it up, placing it beside others on the shelf.

As the city erupted in cheers and a “Happy New Year, the other smartwatches on the shelf emitted an ominous glow. The man’s own was empty- his data, identity,wiped away.