• The Sky was mirror of buildings and streets, hollow of life and dead to anything. There were no faded blue or white puffs; those were now legends which marked the tails of the Grandparents to their children's children. To my people the sky was hazy, if you would call it a sky. It was void of life, not even the birds flew through it anymore. They hung low to the ground easing their way through the crowds of people who walked the musky and busy streets. People and Robot walked hand in hand, and lived a life that united both races. They complimented each other, aiding the other as needed. Every family had one. A person they called their own, cold oil blooded beings that carried nothing but programmed emotions. They were cold to touch, and conversation, the only moments they had life was when they smiled. Laughter was their only emotion, they felt no pain, no sorrow, and they hated no one, and loved all. The image of perfection, our perfection, or at least the image we thought was perfect. All their flaws could be fixed by a minor tweaking of screws or bolts that were masked under the flesh like skin they had on their bodies, my body.

    I am one of the cold bloods, a being based on the image of a child god who sits in their shops and decided who was best to be given the life we live. Our god, if there is such a thing. They lived under the mirror sky that shields the blue from pictures, keeping all weather outside. The only thing that lived inside was man created. All organic objects needed to be created by specialists, people of the past who lived off herbs and nature. Man now was messing with nature, cloning was something that happened more and more often. Life could be solved by a click of a button on a computer. Illness wasn’t a threat anymore. Everything had a cure. Or at least we hoped that to be so. We gave everything we had to the Mirror Sky above our heads. It’s a reminder of the world we created, and how we cast out everything that made the world full of life. The face we made and are forced to stare at every time we turn our eyes towards the empty void above our heads, my head.

    Free will is something I’ve never had and probably never will. My life is controlled by wires and plugs that are hidden behind the flesh mask I get fixed every month or so, a flesh that if cut bleeds nothing and never heals, vacant of any fluid vacant to life. I am like the world, empty of life and restrained to the will of the man god, my master, my life, my everything. They know little of the control they have over me and my people. Our minds cannot comprehend disobedience, nor do we understand rebellion. The only will we have is that embedded behind our eyes. They eyes that watch the red bloods live their lives like nothing is wrong. Which wake the world around us shrivel at the will of the people beside us, and the world being taken over by filth that clogs our lungs but we breathe. And with every inhale we take the eyes I was given sees a little more, I am the worlds eyes. That watches everyone, the real image that everyone’s eyes choose to see, my eyes.

    We’re always watching, seeing the nature reactions. What is acceptable and not to the world we live in, like a child learning manners from scratch. I am a child, a child stuck in the body already signed for me. This is not my body, I have no solid form. I am a soul created by numbers placed in a vessel to be toyed with, mocked, and harbored, an image that the person who designed me created for a purpose, my purpose. That was if I had a purpose, yet I like to believe that my purpose is to give everything else a reason to live. To show the red bloods the path to their success at my own expense. It’s a feeling that makes us almost feel the pounding of a nonexistent heart, the vital organ that makes us human. The heart of the millions my people aid every day, my heart.