Stuff I Share

She was looking at the mirror, reflecting into that disgusting image that she tried to avoid every morning, that disgusting image that nobody but her had to see and deal with. That face, that fucking face that has to smile every single day. Pretend that everything is fine. Always full of shallow emotions. Because nobody actually cared. Who would? She was just a robot. Why should anybody care. That's why nobody even asked why she wore sunglasses during night, or in closed spaces.

Hidding imperfection was her best quality, even to herself, forgetting always that she could barely see through her left eye, which was covered by a thin white layer, revealed by the scar around her eye that she would meticoulously hide behind beautiful makeup.

Even her hair was so fake that it was ruined by how many times a dye have been covering the original colour of those threads. Because, for some mysterious reason, her hair would always keep growing. That should be odd for a simple robot, right? But nobody questioned anything in that city. Everybody would go with their lives with absolute normality, even if not even having an actual conversation was a "normal" thing. A city of shallow thoughts and empty faces, looking for sad sex. So why would she question something like that? But she did. Should she? Was she programmed to actually question her own self? What would be the purpose of that, if not looking to feel powerful? Smarter than any other human being?

What an empty existence, she thought, however, wasn't her own existence empty? She couldn't recolect any memory of every single time that she pretended to be somebody, so... who was her to tell other people... Other people? She was not people. She was... just a microwave, with more details. Was she?

She denied with her head, putting herself into the place she was supposed to be. She was a machine. A pointless machine. So empty...

She picked up a razor blade that she had around her bathroom. A perfect tool to stylize her hair from time to time.

If she was so empty... how empty was she actually inside?

The intrusive thought was slowly crawling all over her mind. occupying more space than it should. Today it was winning over "functional" thoughts. Why? Oh, why, she wondered. Why was she so curious of what was inside. She should know, right? Just cables and as many inorganic parts as there could be. But a whisper at the back of her head was telling her that she knew that was not the right answer. Then, what should she expect.

The razor blade was slowly getting closer to get abdomen, the best place to look inside, right? If the torso had a dense cover that she had felt before with her fingers. She was even able to feel something resembling ribs. But in the discourse that everybody was believing, they could just be shaped that way to make them feel "real".

Finally, with a slow movement, the razor blade skillfully made an incision big enough for her own hand to fit in. However, a red liquid started to flow from the wound. And the wound actually started to... hurt?

The pain started to overcome her, but fear did not crossed her mind. Leaving the razor blade cautiously on the lavatory, so she could use one hand to keep herself from falling from the pain, and the other one to do what her intrusive thought was screaming, at this point.

Her fingers slowly found a way in the wound, and the pain increased, causing her to bend herself. However, she didn't need more. Reality hit in.

Her breath was heavy, her hand was hanging next to her, dripping a few drops of blood.

She didn't need more than what she just did...

-I'm human...- She murmured to herself. -I'm... human- A few tears started to come from her face. For the first time letting herself feel, because it was human to cry.

A life lost. Memories gone.

-I'm human!- She cried again, hitting the lavatory with her bloody hand, while the tears would not stop falling.

She was absolutely nothing! Why was she human! Why was she doomed to actually be somebody! She did not deserve to be somebody! She had absolutely nothing... Her life was nothing...

She let herself slip slowly to the floor, just to keep crying and bleeding, knowing that the wound would soon heal, nonetheless.

What would she do now? What could she do now... She was somebody, but nobody to everybody. She didn't even have a name to herself.

Did she used to have a name?

Did she used to be an actual somebody?

Sobbing and crying, she screamed. The frustration of not even having her own life in her hands. IT WAS THE COMPANY THAT "FABRICATED" HER THAT OWNED HER.

THERE WAS NO POINT ON KNOWING WHAT SHE KNEW.

Just a human...