My eyes were starting to sting, I had them open for so long. You know that feeling, when you’ve been watching something too long or just walked out of a movie theatre in the middle of an afternoon showing? That is what my eyes feel like and I was starting to wonder if the moisture would ever return. That, and if I’d be able to cry again, especially after all the crying I’ve been doing these past few decades. Just for the argument sake, I was sure my tear ducts had run as dry as the Nile river in Great Egypt.

I blinked rapidly and pressed my face closer against the old oak door. It was open just a crack. Large enough for me to see the shadows of the two men. The two men that were here to decided my fate. And as far as I could tell what little light was in the room bounced off steel angels and odd metal art. I thought I might be listening in on the wrong room, when the scent of mixed herbs in a dry bag rolled off the one pacing man. And I knew I was in the right spot. It was a grim smell that only came with these men. The men who decided what I wore and where I lived – if I was worthy enough to live in their new world…. a world where creations like myself, frankly, do not belong. At least that is what they think. If they accept my application I will get a merely three months to live, before my intelligence gets reviewed.

“You can come in Amy.” One of the men said, pushing the door open wider. I sat kneeling on the ground with my hands wrapped around my waist. I am human, I know I am. “We left the door open for a reason. We needed a straight connection to your mind, which means you had to be close by.”

I walked in, and I knew immediately what was going on. I could feel it. I’m fading.

“I am sorry to speak this, but your application as been denied. As of, say, 80 seconds ago, you’ve been unplugged.”

“She’s not real.” The second man’s voice said. “You do not need to apologies to it.”

“But I am.” I whispered through melted lips. “I’m human.”

I couldn’t find my breath. I’m gone.

Written by Alecia Writes

1 thought on “Unplugged

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this:
search previous next tag category expand menu location phone mail time cart zoom edit close