literature

Live On

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Literature Text

Breathe in, breathe out.

My eyelids slowly flutter open as I wake, click-clacking softly against each other as they blink, uncomprehending, eyes unfocused. How long have I been sleeping? It seems as if it were an eternity of dreamless dark.

A noise comes from somewhere off to my left, I think, and reflexively, I turn my head--that is, I try. My movement is impeded. But why, I wonder?

The noise comes again, and I finally register, through the hum and buzz of some electrical noise in my ears, the voice of my brother, albeit echoing and staticy. Now what was he doing in my room? He knows better than that. I start to ask him, indignant, still rather blind, but all that comes from my mouth is a soft whirr and five clicks of metal against metal.

"Lauzza...? Ca... ou hear... e?"

Confused, I merely blink toward the sound as a response. Why can't I talk? Why can't I move? And now that I think about it, why don't I feel my own body, my fingers, my tongue, the sheets on my bed...? My eyes are still unfocused as a darkish blur, what I take to be my brother, rushes over from my left to hover over me.

"La...ra...! You're a...ke! Oh dear Lo...d... you're fina... awake..."

He hugs me. If I had been capable of movement, I'd probably have gotten up and pushed him over, demanding an explanation to why he was being such a sop. But now, however, I think he might be crying. He's shaking, I can see that, and he keeps on whispering my name.

"whirr...aah...bzzclick?" Finally, a sound emanates from my mouth. It's a peculiar sort of ringing buzz, with no tone, just flat, that vibrates my throat a little. As if it were made of metal. Maybe... maybe it is metal.

If I could feel my heart, it would be thumping wildly in my chest. I am starting to worry. Something is definitely not right...

"Laura... you ca... understand m..., right? Right? Plea... ell me that you ...n!"

I twitch my head a little to show that I understand. Movement is starting to come back to me, little my little, in my fingers, in my eyes, in my neck and in my jaw. It's nothing like I'm used to--instead of the smooth, clean movements I have been living with for sixteen years, my joints are uncooperative and move in straight lines, and even then very slowly. I have to will my eyes to adjust, a movement sort of similar to squinting, and when I try to focus them on a faraway object, the scenes zoom forward, at a slow, steady rate, as if in a camera. Whenever I attempt to shift my neck, I pick up tiny shki...shk...shk... noises, as if small metal plates were scraping together and pulling apart in motorized movement.

I think I know what's going on.

"Lau...a, you... do... ou remember May... I me...n, yesterd... night?"

I nod again, trying to focus on his face. It's a bit difficult, and the whirring sounds that accompanied my attempts are becoming a bit too high-pitched for my liking. My eye sockets are warming up a little, as well, so I stop.

"Well... Laura... I-I'm so sor..y! I... you... we wer... a car, driving ba...k from Uncle Thom... s' house, and... we got in...o an... ccident. Laura, please don't hate ...e! Your body wa... destroyed... but somehow, I got out oka... after a night in the hospital, I was fine. ...ut, you remained in cri...cal care... in a coma..."

I was still. I remember that night. Wasn't that just yesterday...? There was a red pickup on the passenger's side of the car, where I was... I think it swerved... I don't remember anything else. Coma? In a hospital? So that's where I was. But... why do I feel so...

"Your body was dy...ng, Laura... I got the doctors to save your brain... I thought I cou...d save you if I put it in one of my ...achines..."

One of his... machines...? I try to focus on his face again, and it blurs into view. He's gotten older, and it doesn't look like he's shaved in a long while. There's thick stubble on his miserable face. But that's just it, he's miserable--he can't be lying. I think I would be crying right now if I had the tears.

"clickwhirrr...uuaai...?" Why?

The defeated man in front of me gets off my hollow metal chest and kneels on the floor as I turn my head slowly to look into his empty grey eyes.

"I'm sorry, Laura... I couldn't sta... the thought of losing you... You're inside a robot now. I don't know wha... sort of dangers come with this... I tried to fashion it as close as possible to a human body, and I hope I connected all the nerve wi...s to the right places..."

He breaks off, hiding his face. I'm sure he's crying. Oddly, I think I'm taking the news pretty well. I am a brain with a mechanical body. That's not too bad, I guess. That means I'll have to forget about combs and showers and toothpaste and vegetable stuck in my teeth, and the feel of someone's hand in mine or an embrace... I cry invisibly again.

"click...ii. o. K-k-k. aah." It's okay. I get it now. I'm not going to blame my brother for anything. It will be difficult, incredibly difficult, for me to relearn how to move, how to speak... but I'll manage.

He looks up at me, takes my still-limp metal hand in his, and I smile at him in my mind.

I'll have to forget how to breathe, and learn, instead, how to live.
Meh. Submission to :icongrammar-nazi-united:'s contest, maybe.

Also, submitting to :iconthewrittenrevolution:. Any feedback word choice? Flow? The format of the story in general (paragraph placements and such)? O.o

idk.
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TheMaidenInBlack's avatar
:iconthewrittenrevolution:

Oh wow, very well written, it drew me in until the end. Paragraph division is great, helps the flow a lot...

Only thing which bugged me a bit, was how easily she accepts the fact that she's a robot. It just seemed... unreal, and too sudden. :hmm: I would consider adding something to that...

For the rest, this is excellent work. :clap: