I am a Robot: A Short Story

1499 Words3 Pages

I feel a jolt and come to my senses in a small box, my mouth sucking in air, my mind immediately running a list of what might have happened. Words. I know these words, somehow, although my mind has never spoken any of them before. I know definitions, I know context, I know grammar and syntax. These words dance in my head, in the dark and quiet of this box.
Box. Noun. A rigid typically rectangular container with or without a cover. An open cargo container of a vehicle. Coffin.
Am I in a coffin? I do not think that this is a coffin. It is too rectangular, and I am not dead, nor am I arranged like someone had thought I was dead. I am upright. But I do not remember anything of a past. I do not know if I have a future.
The box has a lid. I am unsure of how much time has passed, but I know this; I know that there is light flooding into this box. I see a face. A human face.
Humanity. Noun. The state or quality of being human. The state or quality of being generous or friendly to people or to animals. All humans.
Why can I not remember if I am part of this ''All Humans''? Why can I not remember anything? My mind has ran up a list of so many possibilities, but none of them are plausible. I open the mouth that I know I must have. It creaks as if my jaw has never been opened, or as if it is old. But as I do not remember anything, it must be that it has never been opened. Unless I only have amnesia.
Amnesia. Noun. Loss of memory often to brain injury, shock, tiredness, or illness. A blank spot in one''s memory. The overlooking, ignoring or forgetting of events that are not useful to one''s life.
No. No. Why am I in a box?
"It isn''t talking," says the face. Its lips move several seconds before I hear the words,...

... middle of paper ...

...e in sound between my lips and ears.
I find my way to the door without caring if my senses never work right. I just want to escape these people who think they are treating me well, but see me as less than humanity. I know what humanity is, now. It is not something that can be defined in several short words. It is all the flaws and perfection and feelings that make up lives. I am sure I do not have to be human to feel it. What is humanity, anyway?
Emilia races to hand me a bag of things and something else- a manual. Telling me how to act human, I am sure. She says that she is sorry. I feel wetness come from my eyes, and then I feel something more- a feeling of uncomfortable pain that makes my insides churn. It makes me want to run, to push my way out of this door and just live without any of this.
I take the bag. I push my way out of this door.
I run.

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