Artificial
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Original - Misc › Science Fiction
Rating:
Adult +
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692
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Category:
Original - Misc › Science Fiction
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
692
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Artificial
A/N Intended as a sort of alternate ending/continuation of Simplicity.
I don't know how many times I've been here. I don't know if they know either. It's just…here. That's all it is. I'm used to it by now.
They know me, here. They can trust me. Well, perhaps trust is a bit of a strong word. They know what I'm capable of. Even if they refuse to leave their green suits, that pale green, formed of mixing cake batter and puke…they know what I can do. And they don't hate me for it.
They know there's something different about me. They know I'm just another experiment they can observe. That they are supposed to take care of. I'm protected.
I'm safe.
I hate it.
xxx
I'm in pain. It hurts, dammit! I want to be released, to be let go. But the pain…it holds me like a vice, constricting about me. I can't move, can barely breathe. The floor is cold, feels good against the heat burning my body up from the inside. There are voices around me, many of them, all whispering.
<> they say.
I can hear you!
They don't care if I can. They still whisper, still speak in those words that have no meaning, and too much. They want to watch me, writhing on the cold tiles. They peer at me until the green suits come and chase them away.
The bells are ringing. I can hear them dimly, but more than those – I can hear my own heart pounding, the beating walls inside my body contracting, expanding. They move in time with the agony pouring through my midsection.
It's impossible.
They're impossible.
I hear their voices – the green suits are saying things to one another, communicating in their rapid language, discussing…me. I know they are. They must be.
Hands touch me.
I remember them from before, those awful, burning pads of heat. They scrape at skin that won't tear off. I twist, trying to get closer to the floor, trying to escape those hands.
Something heavy lands in the middle of my back.
For the moment, I'm surprised. No one…never so close before.
Get away!
The weight is almost comforting. The one above me, holding me down…it's female, I think. Knees are pressing into my spine, prepared to break it in two. My body is pressed flat against the freezing tiles. I'm beginning to shiver. It feels…terrible.
Heat is still inside me, but the outer warmth is draining too quickly. I'm shaking. I can't shake.
I can't shiver.
She won't move enough for me to move.
I'm helpless.
Let me go –
xxx
There are straps, holding me down. Everything is grey. My eyes don't want to open. I remember this – I used to dream this. They come to take me away, every night, laughing and calling to one another. I don't hear voices now…but it's only a matter of time.
They'll be here.
The straps are, already. They always follow the straps.
xxx
The light is too bright. I can't open my eyes, but I don't think they would want me to anyway. There's not much I can do, still held down, the comforting restriction of belts and chains, pressing me into white sheets. Not green…not that pale, perfect color green that they all wear.
White.
The color for the diseased.
Impure, affected, afflicted – it's like coming home.
Their voices are echoing down a maze of hallways. I smell them coming before I see them; they're built of soap and pain and screams. It's no wonder they came for me.
They push me into a room, drag a curtain across the opening, shutting off the only exit. They mean to keep me here then. They can try.
I twist under the straps, fight until I'm on my front, face into the sheets.
See how long you can keep me here.
xxx
Long ago and far away they used to call them physicians. He's the same as my keepers – dressed in that palest of green, watching me. Except he doesn’t wear the suit, and he has foregone the gloves and helmet for less protective measures.
Perhaps he hasn't heard of me.
<> I heard whispered before. <>
Only nothing.
The bonds are gone. It's fearful, open in this wide room, with its white walls, white curtain, white sheets. The only comfort is in the green on him.
He reminds me of the ones who used to follow me. They used to…no longer.
Short hair, bright eyes. He's young, but not too young.
You would have kept me, wouldn't you? If you'd been there. You would have followed, would have wanted. You would have been like him – the one whose name I never learned, though I never knew any of them by anything more than motion.
You would have seen me, I think. Enough to fear me, properly. Enough to know what I am now.
What I was.
His clipboard is covered in white. It's too dark, still though. The material under the paper is brown – dark brown. The only spot in an otherwise perfect hell. He needs to lose it. White – like the curtain, the walls, the sheets. Then he can be my sanctuary.
<>
Am not.
He touches me. I hate it when they do that.
I pull away, but his hand locks around my wrist.
Let me go!
<> he says again, lifting my arm.
They are not. They're decorations. Patterns… Drawing done under the skin.
Tattoo-like, except they aren't permanent, and removal only costs a few weeks.
I'm an open canvas. These aren't bruises.
He disagrees, asks me again, asks me about my keepers, my handlers. They are no more, but he doesn't believe. He is beginning to get on my nerves.
The pain is returning. I lash out, trying to get him away.
The fire – it's burning up again, and I can't stop it.
Get away.
There's nothing metal in the room, nothing tile. There's nothing chilled enough to steal my heat. I need to be rid of it, this burning sun inside skin.
He watches me.
I don't care. Clothing is too stifling anyway.
It looks like a puddle…a pale, pale puddle of fabric on the floor. But I'm still too warm, though my skin is forming goose-bumps and I'm shaking again.
Take the heat away. Set ice into my gut, and things will be well again.
I don't know how many times I've been here. I don't know if they know either. It's just…here. That's all it is. I'm used to it by now.
They know me, here. They can trust me. Well, perhaps trust is a bit of a strong word. They know what I'm capable of. Even if they refuse to leave their green suits, that pale green, formed of mixing cake batter and puke…they know what I can do. And they don't hate me for it.
They know there's something different about me. They know I'm just another experiment they can observe. That they are supposed to take care of. I'm protected.
I'm safe.
I hate it.
xxx
I'm in pain. It hurts, dammit! I want to be released, to be let go. But the pain…it holds me like a vice, constricting about me. I can't move, can barely breathe. The floor is cold, feels good against the heat burning my body up from the inside. There are voices around me, many of them, all whispering.
<
I can hear you!
They don't care if I can. They still whisper, still speak in those words that have no meaning, and too much. They want to watch me, writhing on the cold tiles. They peer at me until the green suits come and chase them away.
The bells are ringing. I can hear them dimly, but more than those – I can hear my own heart pounding, the beating walls inside my body contracting, expanding. They move in time with the agony pouring through my midsection.
It's impossible.
They're impossible.
I hear their voices – the green suits are saying things to one another, communicating in their rapid language, discussing…me. I know they are. They must be.
Hands touch me.
I remember them from before, those awful, burning pads of heat. They scrape at skin that won't tear off. I twist, trying to get closer to the floor, trying to escape those hands.
Something heavy lands in the middle of my back.
For the moment, I'm surprised. No one…never so close before.
Get away!
The weight is almost comforting. The one above me, holding me down…it's female, I think. Knees are pressing into my spine, prepared to break it in two. My body is pressed flat against the freezing tiles. I'm beginning to shiver. It feels…terrible.
Heat is still inside me, but the outer warmth is draining too quickly. I'm shaking. I can't shake.
I can't shiver.
She won't move enough for me to move.
I'm helpless.
Let me go –
xxx
There are straps, holding me down. Everything is grey. My eyes don't want to open. I remember this – I used to dream this. They come to take me away, every night, laughing and calling to one another. I don't hear voices now…but it's only a matter of time.
They'll be here.
The straps are, already. They always follow the straps.
xxx
The light is too bright. I can't open my eyes, but I don't think they would want me to anyway. There's not much I can do, still held down, the comforting restriction of belts and chains, pressing me into white sheets. Not green…not that pale, perfect color green that they all wear.
White.
The color for the diseased.
Impure, affected, afflicted – it's like coming home.
Their voices are echoing down a maze of hallways. I smell them coming before I see them; they're built of soap and pain and screams. It's no wonder they came for me.
They push me into a room, drag a curtain across the opening, shutting off the only exit. They mean to keep me here then. They can try.
I twist under the straps, fight until I'm on my front, face into the sheets.
See how long you can keep me here.
xxx
Long ago and far away they used to call them physicians. He's the same as my keepers – dressed in that palest of green, watching me. Except he doesn’t wear the suit, and he has foregone the gloves and helmet for less protective measures.
Perhaps he hasn't heard of me.
<
Only nothing.
The bonds are gone. It's fearful, open in this wide room, with its white walls, white curtain, white sheets. The only comfort is in the green on him.
He reminds me of the ones who used to follow me. They used to…no longer.
Short hair, bright eyes. He's young, but not too young.
You would have kept me, wouldn't you? If you'd been there. You would have followed, would have wanted. You would have been like him – the one whose name I never learned, though I never knew any of them by anything more than motion.
You would have seen me, I think. Enough to fear me, properly. Enough to know what I am now.
What I was.
His clipboard is covered in white. It's too dark, still though. The material under the paper is brown – dark brown. The only spot in an otherwise perfect hell. He needs to lose it. White – like the curtain, the walls, the sheets. Then he can be my sanctuary.
<
Am not.
He touches me. I hate it when they do that.
I pull away, but his hand locks around my wrist.
Let me go!
<
They are not. They're decorations. Patterns… Drawing done under the skin.
Tattoo-like, except they aren't permanent, and removal only costs a few weeks.
I'm an open canvas. These aren't bruises.
He disagrees, asks me again, asks me about my keepers, my handlers. They are no more, but he doesn't believe. He is beginning to get on my nerves.
The pain is returning. I lash out, trying to get him away.
The fire – it's burning up again, and I can't stop it.
Get away.
There's nothing metal in the room, nothing tile. There's nothing chilled enough to steal my heat. I need to be rid of it, this burning sun inside skin.
He watches me.
I don't care. Clothing is too stifling anyway.
It looks like a puddle…a pale, pale puddle of fabric on the floor. But I'm still too warm, though my skin is forming goose-bumps and I'm shaking again.
Take the heat away. Set ice into my gut, and things will be well again.