Their marriage was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatsoever about that.
Kim knew it was dead. Of course she did. The tabloids discussed it incessantly. And yet, she could not bring herself to file the papers.
Wearily, she retreated to her glam room. She was about to go live on Instagram when she heard the front door fly open with a booming sound. The noise grew louder, coming up the stairs and heading straight towards her.
“Damn this mausoleum of a home!” Kim moaned. “It was only a matter of time before it attracted real ghosts.”
Her face paled beneath her bronzer as a ghostly figure materialized. It possessed a familiar face: the very same as her brother’s, but with a handsome silver streak in its hair.
“Who are you?” Kim asked timidly.
“In life, I was your father, Robert Kardashian,” the figure explained. “In death, I am the hologram your estranged husband Kanye West commissioned.”
“How wonderful!” cried Kim. “Have you come to offer me guidance?”
“Of course, Kimberly,” the hologram affirmed. “Your life is a hot mess.”
“But you’re proud of me, aren’t you Dad?” Kim asked hopefully.
The hologram shifted uncomfortably. “You will be haunted,” he resumed, “by Three Other Holograms.”
Kim’s countenance fell as low as her Botox would allow.
“I—I think I’d rather not,” she said.
“Without their visits,” the hologram continued, “you’ll never follow through on this divorce. Expect the first tomorrow, when your phone chimes one.” With that, the apparition was gone.
Wearily, Kim went straight to bed, without even sandpapering off her makeup, and fell asleep instantly.
THE FIRST OF THE THREE HOLOGRAMS.
She awoke to the buzz of a Twitter notification. A towering figure appeared before her, bearing an uncanny resemblance to a man she’d hoped to forget.
“Ew, Kris Humphries? Is that you?” Kim demanded.
“Not quite, babe. I am the Hologram of Divorces Past.”
“Oh, shit,” said Kim. “How did you become a hologram?
“I had a likeness of myself made in 2011, so it could sub in for me on your family’s stupid show,” the figure explained.
Kim rolled her eyes. “You’re such a douche.”
The hologram took out a cell phone. “Check it out,” he said, handing it to her. “I made a TikTok compilation of your former marriages.”
Kim’s eyes widened as her past flashed before her eyes. Damon Thomas. Kris Humphries. Even Reggie Bush, the Divorce That Should Have Been.
“Hologram!” wailed Kim, “Why are you showing me this? I can’t handle it!”
“Dude, I literally just told you this was a breakup montage,” said the hologram. “Why do you always have to start with me?”
With that, he began to fade. “It’s time to get divorced!” he warned. Then he vanished.
Exhausted, Kim collapsed back into a deep slumber.
THE SECOND OF THE THREE HOLOGRAMS.
When Kim woke again, the transparent likeness of her mother stood before her.
“Mom?” Kim asked, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “You’re a hologram too?”
“Like I’d skip out on an expensive trend!” the figure declared. “Also, I am the Hologram of Divorces Present. Look upon me!”
Kim reverently did so. As usual, she was forced to acknowledge her mother was the best dressed in the family.
“Hologram,” said Kim submissively, “lead me where you will.”
“Then touch my Chanel blazer!”
Kim did as he was told, and held it fast. Instantly, she was transported to Kris’s glamorous office. A series of numbers flashed across a computer screen.
“Look!” the hologram declared triumphantly. “With news of your impending divorce, our projected ratings for KUWTK are through the roof! Things have been dicey since the Kourtney and Scott rumors fell apart. Your failed marriage is the only thing that can save us now.”
“You think I should get divorced for ratings?” Kim gaped at the hologram in disbelief.
“Grow up, Kim,” the hologram chided. “Honestly, have you learned nothing from your career as reality T.V. star?” And with that, she disappeared in a puff of glitter.
THE LAST OF THE HOLOGRAMS.
The final Hologram slowly, silently, approached. When it came near her, Kim bent down upon her Yeezy-clad knee; for the very air around this Spirit seemed to scatter bad press and controversy.
“Hologram of Divorces Yet To Come!” she cried, “I fear you more than any spectre I have seen. Will you not speak to me? At least send me a text!”
It gave her no reply. Its hand was pointed straight ahead. They were now surrounded by political campaign signs.
The Spirit stood among the signs, and gestured down to one. Kim kneeled, trembling as she read upon the message upon it: “Kanye West 2024: The Birthday Party President.”
“Noooo! I cannot live through this hell again!” Kim wailed, collapsing to the ground. She buried her face in her hands in an attempt to hide her ugly-cry face.
“Hologram! Tell me this: are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be?”
At last the figure spoke. “Do you really want to stay in this marriage and find out?”
“Okay, I’ll file the papers!” she sobbed. “Just please: promise me I’ll never have to hire staff to pose as my husband in family photos again.”
THE END OF IT.
Kim was better than her word. She headed to the Los Angeles Superior Court the next morning and filed for divorce. Best and happiest of all, the future before her was her own, to make amends in.
She had no further intercourse with holograms. She was happy, and single once again. For the next two weeks, at least.
Lindsay Hameroff is a humor writer and satirist. She lives in Harrisburg, PA with her husband and two kids. Her work has been published in Little Old Lady Comedy, Slackjaw, Points in Case, Frazzled, and more. In her spare time, she can be found reading, cooking, wrangling children, or fantasizing about making brisket for Harry Styles. You can find her on Twitter @LindsayHameroff.