The mother mentioned she was going to take her daughter to run some errands, and I do need new clothes since I am left with absolutely nothing but what I am currently wearing. It would make logical sense to go out, watch from a distance of course, and run my errands. I nod to myself and decide to do just that. Anxiously, I pace around my apartment, waiting for the sound of keys clanging, footsteps shuffling, and a door sealing shut before I hesitantly pry open the door. I poke my head out first, cautiously scanning the hallway before fully committing myself to exit the apartment. I lightly step on the dingy browned, molded, and water-damaged carpet, which lines the narrow corridors of the building. There wasn't much to this place, but the added sound absorption from excess mildew and mold seemed to be helping more than hindering.
As I creep up around one of the corners, which leads to the front entrance of the complex, I faintly hear the shrill giggles of a child and a coo from a mother. I wait until the bright voices diminish to nothing, and before I too slip out the entrance and make my way down the crowded sidewalk. The mother and child are about a block ahead of me, and it is easy to spot them as the young girl's radiant hair stood out amongst the crowd. I admire how the mother and child interact with one another.
The vibrant giggles the child elucidates and the mother's cacophony of chuckles that preceded them. I am wary of these interactions as those with mechanical implantations should not be able to elicit specific cued laughter. Their malware makes it so they cannot understand nor create humor. The coding used was more advanced, yes, but at the same time, humor has always been difficult for those with such programming as it was too often unpredictable to get an appropriate time response. So how is this child able to?
I proceed to monitor the two from afar and notice another peculiarity. The child would disobey the mother continuously. They were minor behavioral issues, but part of the laws of robots is that a robot must not disobey their owners. The child was ignoring her mother on multiple occasions but did not seem to care. She would run away from the mother, the mother would call her back, but she kept going. Just like any other kid would. I find this to be very disconcerting since the four laws of robotics prohibit such behavior. These rules are as follows;
A robot must obey its creator or master
Robot must not harm another human
A robot must protect their existence as long as it doesn't interfere with laws one or two
A Robot must not injure humanity
Then four concepts are taught are:
Robots can not love
Robots can not form real connections with humans
Robots hold little understanding of social cues
Robots are not human and should not be treated as such
These rules extend to those who are partially robotic; we give them the title of being "Cyborgs," alluding to half-humans with cybernetic abilities given to them. In essence, they are robots, but with human features and acknowledging these rules and concepts, there is no doubt that there is a high degree of disbelief as I observe this cyborg child interacting with her mother.
The mother and child enter a coffee shop, and I pause in the middle of the sidewalk. Passers-by push and shove their way around me, but I stay put. I don't care about being a nuance to them, for my thoughts are beginning to preoccupy me. They start to conjugate and build up in my head, pressing against the inside of my skull.
Thoughts such as: How can a cyborg disobey its master? Shouldn't cyborgs be able to understand, let alone create humor? Then more personal questions arise, such as: Why did I feel such a secure connection to this family? Why did this child have such a cold and distant touch but radiate such warmth and purity?
As the thoughts clammer together in my mind, an ever-growing jarring ache starts to dig its way outward from the middle of my brain. Instantly, I find myself wincing in agonizing pain, and my hands clutch the back of my head instinctively. My vision blurs, and the world around me begins to melt into smudges of color; I bat my eyes profusely, but they didn't want to focus on anything. Flashes of a neon rainbow danced across my line of sight, followed by a blinding white flare of light. It is as if I am suspended in time; the world around me continues, but I have stayed stagnant.
Everything and everyone around me keeps advancing, but I am left alone on the sidewalk completely frozen, for one minute, two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Men, women, children, all witnessing my breath through my teeth with my eyes pinched shut, sweat trickling down my temples, and hands yanking on my hair before the pain abruptly recedes.
My legs give out, and I exhaustingly kneel, my one arm extends out next to me for balance and support, my other wrapping around my chest. I attempt to stand and straighten out my stance, but as I do so, I become weak in the knees and end up toppling over to my back. I don't even bother rolling over to move; I am well aware that I am in the middle of the sidewalk and that people passing by me are probably confused and slightly concerned. But at this point, I need to rest.
After some more time spent on the hard concrete, I sigh relief, place a hand on my chest and begin to move my legs underneath my body, and start to rise. At first, I start falling over forwards, but I take one curtsey step to the side and hold myself steady for a second. I count to five, taking in deep breaths, I rest my hand over my heart, and the pounding against my ribs gives me a sense of peace.
***
The day is beginning to transition into the night, and the tall rusted lamp posts start to flicker on. I make my way to a nearby bookstore, and take a seat in one of the chairs that face outward so a person could look out onto the streets. By now, most everyone is starting to get home to their families, and most likely, the girl and her mother are as well. I can try again tomorrow, at this point I am more concerned with what has just happened to me.
I always told my patience recovery isn't easy, but I really should have taken my word for it. I should've known better than to go out, exert myself more than I ever have, and expect to be perfectly okay. I probably moved a shunt with all of my sudden movements, such as carrying the heavy box of items, walking longer distances than I have been, perhaps that caused the chain of reactions I had recently experienced.
That's the only conclusion I can come up with on the spot that made the most sense. I do not have the mental strength to calculate every possible explanation, and I needed to get back home. I am exhausted, hungry, probably dehydrated, and in need of a shower. I get up from where I was sitting and rub the back of my neck, letting out a loud sigh of annoyance. I make my way out of the bookstore and trackback to my apartment, but the chime of a bell in the distance grabs my attention, and I notice a red balloon leaving a cafe across the street. It floats aimlessly, and I follow the string down and see it being held tightly by the red-headed girl. The girl's mother is right behind her, a bag of pastries slung over her shoulder, her hand clinging to her daughters with a look of content gleaming off of her face.
My attention shifts as the red balloon begin to leap and fight against a gust of wind that sweeps through the streets. The wind causes some newspapers to become disheveled and fly off the side racks, some leaves cascade off the trees, and my hair sweeps in front of my eyes and briefly invades my line of sight. My fingers comb through my fluffy mess of hair and slick it back behind my ears. As I do so, I witness the balloon drift away from the girl, the girl sprinting to grab the balloon as the string slips through her fingers. The balloon begins to ascend into the air following the path of the wind. The girl desperately tries to catch up to it and leaps up in an attempt to catch it, but her mother swiftly grabs her hand to pull her back, and just like that, I see the side dislocate from the girl's forearm. I watch in horror as the hand clings to the ground, and a hollow echo resonates through the almost silent street.
The balloon carries on ascending into the sky; its vibrant red hue is absorbed into the blazing red sunset, and the metallic grey hand descends towards the cracked and grimey sidewalk.
YOU ARE READING
The Mechanics of Us
Teen FictionHuman DNA is composed of stars. Stars that have been broken down into nanoparticles that have dispersed themselves throughout the universe; they harness the energy of the cosmos and transitively embedded their limitless potentials in every fiber of...
