Nihilist

Bechamel Lasagna

A swing of the door, a click of the latch, “I’m home,” Melville Melbourne called into the warm brownstone apartment.

“In here,” a lilting voice drifted from the kitchen, followed by a humid cloud filled with scents of food and love.

Of course, Melville couldn’t eat any of it, but she wished she could so much it almost ruptured her gears and shorted her circuits.

“Hello mum,” Mel wrapped her thin arms around her mother’s big-boned frame and looked over her shoulder to see what was for dinner. “Béchamel lasagna?” Mel took her arms off of her mother and went over to the ice box. “Again?” She pulled the door open and pulled out another fuel cell, shaking off the droplets of water.

“What do you care?” Her mother laughed and stirred the béchamel sauce again. “You never eat it!”

With a deft flick of the wrist, Mel unlocked the compartment in her corset and took out her previous power cell, fitting the new one in amongst clockwork and silicon micro chips.

“So this large pot of sauce is solely for your and father’s consumption?” she asked, knowing well enough that that wasn’t the case.

“Practicing for the upcoming season, m’dear,” Mel’s mum continued to stir the sauce. “Since our servants left us, who’s going to prepare the food at the dinner party where you might meet your husband?”

“You know very well that I will die an old maid,” Mel said wryly as she clicked the compartment shut. She let the empty fuel cell in her hand slip into the waste disposal bin as she made her way towards the door. Mel had been through two seasons already and had yet to secure a husband. No one wants to marry a cyborg. Absolutely no one.

Her mum said nothing and let the pot bubble. “Go change out of your day dress please, dear.” Still the pot bubbled and Mel didn’t move. “Go for a walk, perhaps. The light is waning, be back before dark.”

After a few seconds of being frozen by her mother’s attitude, Mel’s mind thawed enough to be able to understand and to move her legs, then skirts, making her way upstairs.

Alone in her room, Mel did as she was told and changed out of her day dress, making sure to secure the skirts to the stays in her clockwork corset, lest they fall while she is walking in the city. Why did her mother wish to send her away? What was she planning?

But as a good little girl should, Melville Melbourne was soon out in one of Wolfsgate’s many parks. It was green and leafy, as a park should be in mid-spring. The soil was brought up on a special transport ship, as were the trees. The flowers were genetically modified right here in Wolfsgate’s own arboretum. The invention of false sunlight the previous year was a triumph, allowing the trees to bring in more air than ever before. Not like Mel even needed it. Not like she ever needed it.

A flash of blue, an Erlenmeyer flask. “Come on Melville, just take it,” a seductive voice whispers through a layer of water. “Just one sip and you’ll be all better.” Slippery hands, sticky fingers, the cool touch of glass. She hesitates then drinks. Voices scream far away, a glass breaks, the façade of a stone building, the cut of a knife…

Mel’s eyes open wide, leaning against a tree for support, gasping as if her life depended upon it. What was that? She thought frantically, running algorithms in her automated brain. Her programming couldn’t account for this. Nothing could. But as much as she tried to fight it, she was sucked in again, blue lights swirling.

Her vision is cloudy, smoke in the air. Voices, underwater, murmuring encouragement. It’s lies. All lies. She struggles, leather restraints holding her down. A needle, polished and shining, comes into her sight. “Now this won’t hurt a bit,” the words come out distorted, too deep to be a human’s. He’s LYING! She shrieks but no sound comes out. The needle touches flesh and all goes black…

Mel’s knees buckled underneath her, her head hitting the tree she was previously using to hold her up, and true to her vision,

All went black.