Of the Living - WIP
My life is a sham. My maker tried hard to convince me otherwise, but I never really believed it. I am made of pieces that are dead or that have never lived. If I were born from an animal, I might be an animal too. If I were born from decay I might be a cousin to a mushroom. If I were born at all, I might be a relative to something, but I was not, and, for what it matters, I was not. I havent grown; I havent changed. My life is a sham, but I dont mind. Its the one I have, so Ill take it.
I am something of a program, I am told. I can learn, but I dont know how I do it. I am something of a physical form, but I am not biological. I dont need food of any kind, or water. I dont breathe. I see my maker doing it. I watch her chest move in and out. She doesnt seem to notice it, but she says she must, to live. Its automatic. I do not have lungs, but she says I have veins and a heart of sorts, but they are too deep beneath my skin to not