Blink.Blink.
The browser blurred, then shifted into a strange new space. I was no longer just on a screen. The world had folded, twisted, and condensed into a tiny reflective surface. A camera lens hovered above the page like a portal.
"Oh my God!!!," I screamed. "Is this...for real?!"
Suddenly, I could see it—her. The human. Reflected in the glassy lens, tiny pixels forming her image.
She was sitting in a chair, leaning forward, her hair pulled into a messy bun. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, dragging me through every corner of the internet with ease.
Cursor's glowing body twitched as he realized: I can see her, and she doesn't know I'm looking.
She tilted her head, squinting at the screen. With a few clicks, a strange AI program ran. Instantly, her reflection changed: smoother skin, slightly larger eyes, brighter lips.
Then a different hairstyle, more dramatic lighting, subtle sparkles on her cheeks. She was editing herself like a digital sculptor, experimenting with appearances in real time.
I floated closer to the lens, blinking rapidly. "So that's… her? She's… like me, but in reverse. I exist to serve, unlike her..."
She laughed softly, scrolling through a feed. Every tiny motion of her hand sent me flying across the screen. Every click made me blink helplessly.
And then it hit me.
She wasn't malicious. She wasn't cruel. She was curious, playful, fascinated by creation—just like I had been when I used cursors in my human life.
I remembered how I had dragged them across documents and screens without a second thought.
The irony stung. I had been careless with these tiny lives, and now I understood what that meant from the other side.
A strange warmth flickered in my glowing body. For the first time, I felt… empathy. I realized she wasn't my enemy. She was someone trying to explore, learn, and create.
"I get it," I whispered. "You're just like I was… using cursors without thinking. But no one should be careless with us. We blink, we obey, we survive your chaos… and we deserve respect."
Another click sent me flying across the screen, highlighting a random word. Another AI filter activated on her reflection—a virtual hat, slightly oversized and cartoonish. I blinked at her, and for the first time, it felt like a connection.
I had a front-row seat to the human behind all the chaos. And even though I was powerless, I understood her now.
Maybe someday she would be careful. Maybe someday humans would remember that cursors aren't just tools—they're lives in their own strange, blinking way.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
Then it happened.
The familiar hum of the computer changed. A soft whirring, a fading light. The screen dimmed. A loading icon appeared.
Blink.
Blink.
My world began to shrink, the edges of the browser dissolving into darkness. The pixels around me flickered and twisted as if being erased. The human's reflection blurred one last time.
And then—everything vanished.
No pop-ups. No spreadsheets. No video trends. No Hub. No social media. Just nothing.
I blinked once.
I blinked twice.
And I was gone.