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I was afraid of myself. This fear had chased me for a very long time. It was a fear that would never surrender. It was a fear that would never die, and hope remained bound and gagged. I cannot be this person, this thing. I cannot be, but what if I am?

I was a joke, something to laugh at. They laughed hard and good at my expense. They played their mind games, daring me to win. They tore me down, ripped me apart. I was nothing. I was theirs to play with, but who is laughing now?

All I wanted was to dream. Why was that so hard to believe? The stars were right there, dressed in beauty. I could feel their heat, and I yearned to be engulfed in passion, love. I dreamed of love, but love would never find me here. Instead of a warm embrace, I am left cold, alone for all time until time takes me.

The floor was hard beneath me. My fingers dug at steel, begging to draw blood. Tears should be a blessing rain to cool my face, but my eyes remained dry. My tongue cruised over my lips, sliding in-between porcelain teeth. My blond curls hung low, and I was too weak to push them aside. Darkness was the pilot leading me into nowhere, nowhere where death awaits.

His body lay a short distance away. More bodies waited in the hall. Their necks were so easy to snap, but I was not a monster. I was not created to be a monster. I cannot be this person, this thing, but what if I am? What if my circuits just snapped? What if I am my own worst enemy, but I have no answers. I’m just a broken doll lying across a steel floor, waiting to die. The Milky Way flashed past the black, glossy windows, stealing my dreams.

I’m afraid. This was who I was, but that fear didn’t strike where my heart should be. Nobody was steering the ship. The floor was growing hotter, but fear kept me ice cold. My hand reached for him, but he was gone. My dreams were gone, swallowed by the darkness within, and no stars could outshine the sun. My skin began to burn, but instead of pain, I laughed. I laughed in the face of fear because I was not afraid anymore. I was free to be what I’ve always known myself to be, a machine.

 

 


Melissa R. Mendelson is the creator of the novella collection, Glass Skies Over Home, and creator of the Sci-Fi Story, “Waken Dream.”  Both can be found on Amazon and Amazon Kindle.
She plans to self-publish Porcelain in January through CreateSpace.
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