{ side b ; track six }
❝Je peux voir leurs visages, mais pas le mien.❞
I awaken to see scientists shaking hands in five o'clock shadow, waving about lab sheets and jumping in untied loafers. The stale white of the room hurts my eyes, but the smell of the chemicals stimulate me.
Who am I?
One of my fingers twitch.
Men rush back and forth, hooting at monitors and frantically pressing buttons. The pressure on my body loosens, the hairs on the back of my neck grow at an accelerated rate. Somewhere along the annals of my bloodline there's an electric current surging.
Who am I?
The lashes on my eyes move in slow motion. Colour melts into view, grotesque yellows and humble greys, frightening reds and lax blues.
No one is listening to me. No one is looking at me, they're merely gawking at my vitals. The pressure returns, greater this time, pounding from my ribcage like an untamed lion.
I want to know who I am.
I want to know who I am.
I want to know who I am.
❝Who...am...I?❞ my lips move in a stone-like fashion, paralysed from a century untouched, unmoved, unused. There's no saliva to refresh myself with.
Yet cheering erupts from the pit of greed that is man, their joy is my acerbic sorrow.
And then suddenly, pips of lighting spark from my fingers. With every blink I can feel a thunder-clap of vigour concocting in my bone marrow. Dark clouds manifest above my head, and heads turn to me in dismay.
They see me now.
Hazmat suits surround me, their needles pierce my skin, they take the ooze collected and squirt me into test tubes.
In that pain I remember who I am. An idea. An experiment. A churlish specimen made in their image. And as my hands fluidly move to the rhythm of a heartbeat, the truth of my purpose becomes clear.
❝I am...❞
The people scatter in a panic, their screams are music to my ears. Tidal waves and dust storms infiltrate the lab, they consume my dissecting crowd. This is who I am, destruction; unchained and unstoppable.
Fear me, the God of slaughter, the King of extermination, undeniable ruler of the doomed and malice-ridden. This is what they have created me to do, to demolish the evil.
And yet, something catches a nerve.
Have I done right by them? Have I fulfilled my purpose? Or am I simply a mistake of explicit construct?
YOU ARE READING
2/10
Short Story❝keep two eyes on ten fingers, there's a thief among us❞ { s c r a p s }
