|Date:||Tue, 13 Apr 1999 03:31:05 -0400|
mistress, though in truth i never sleep - even during the night she tosses
and turns, and i must move with her. i hate it when she jerks. The spasms,
at night, are the worst. i know aren't really my fault, because i'm the
best, i was made by the best and put in by the best. i am cold steel and
insulated gold wiring, plugged into her brain and moving throughout her
body. Synapses fire, and i move, faster than anything *should*, faster than
the eye can perceive it. i am normally a flurry of motion, but on mornings
like this, when she's left the covers off of her feet, i am cold, and she is
She scratches at the places where the wires and steel are colder under the
flesh. Metal conducts cold just as well as heat and electricity - something
they don't tell you before they install me.
Those kind of things you have to find out for yourself. It's been six
months since she got me, and sometimes she still messes up. Never when
she's running - she's what her teammates call a "Sam" which i have taken to
mean cannon fodder. i course electricity through the wires connected to my
central node - some of her other equipment is made by my company, and some
of it is old, outdated, and so used to being there that they've carved out
their own places in her body. i have no control over her left hand -
there's a piece of metal that pinches a tiny bit of a nerve that prevents me
from sending current through it, and that frustrates me. It is a fake hand,
that's why, i've learned. It has to have separate control, or else she'd
She has other things, things that are just meant to kill. The spurs that
run up her left arm occasionally short my control to her wrist. They are
wicked things, and live for the moment that her gun runs out of bullets (all
this is related to me) and they swoop out, hungry for the strike of metal
against bone, and sometimes, with others like her, metal against metal.
She brushes her teeth and gets dressed, humming all the while, a tune that
courses down through her body through me, the vibrations making an opera in
her mind - i know what opera is, and what it sounds like, all thanks to her,
once again. She is perfect, my dark mistress. i see through her eyes that
she is dark skinned, and small tusks protrude from her lower jaw. Her nose
is thin and narrow from surgery, and her ears are pointed high above her
head, tiny wires showing just under the thin skin of the lobes. Two
dataports interrupt her perfect skin, the green cast to her complexion
making her more exotic than most women. She keeps a picture of what she
wants to, ideally, look like. Sometimes she talks to herself about it - i
am not privy to her thoughts, even though they are elctricity, because i
cannot puzzle them out. It makes me sad. She does not know that i am
aware, but how could i not be? It is not magic, it is just her. She will
never look like that smiling girl, though. She is too short.
She pours a glass of orange juice and takes a sip, her body instantly
seizing up, taking me with it. In my haste, i cause her to crush the paper
cup, the juice running over her hand and onto the floor in slow motion,
because the world speeds as i activate more sensors to compensate. The pain
and acidity of the orange juice rubbing against a cold sore on her mouth
that so recently felt the sting of toothpaste is enough to cause my sensors
to jump. As i said, she is not totally used to me yet.
She finishes her morning rituals, and slips out to meet the day. She
blinks, once, twice, three times, against the sun before her computer aided
eyes get the idea and mosey up to filtering out the harshest of the rays of
light. So slow. i could do so much better with an upgrade, but she wants
that shade of eyes, and my company doesn't make them in that shade for the
money that she wishes to spend. It makes me feel like i have let her down.
She moves down the street, avoiding the eyes of those around her, and they
keep their orbs away as well. It is too early for the "punks" to be out,
and too late for most of the tougher things that roam the night.
The sunlight is warm, and it drives the chill out of her bones. She is so
wonderful, my mistress. She stops and gives money to a homeless person, who
looks at her suspiciously. She is so generous.
She moves into the convenience store and gathers some things - milk, the
things she calls Oreos that make her blood sugar too high, some tampons and
a few lightbulbs. She walks to the counter, and flips through a few
magazines, holding the milk under one arm, and the other things crooked in
her elbow, chewing an Oreo as she hums to herself again. i am filled with
what she would call drunkeness. A warm glow. i do love my mistress.
Tires screech outside the doors, and the Japanese man dives under his
counter as the sound of breaking glass begins to fill our ears, and i slow
time again, see the bullets slam through the glass and fly through the air,
streaking towards us.
System error. Thoughts?
She drops the milk and it splatters in mid air, by her thigh, a bullet
ripping through it, bursting it in all directions, exploding. She screams.
It is to late! Right thigh, right shoulder, right lung, trachea, tibia,
femur, left ovary, right foot, left ear tip, left side of the abdomen, just
below the lung and above the diaphram, left kidney. Her body is twitching
and flailing, her scream silenced ages ago by the bullet through her throat.
The spurs burst out either of their own accord, or on ghost orders, piercing
her left hand, forcing it upright. She had not even time to pull a gun. My
love, my warrior! This is not a dead for you! i am set, unable to move, as
the door creak open. Her left lung pulls in air, the right lung is nearing
collapse. i cannot move! i am trapped! Get up! They'll kill you!!
She pants, and her eyes roll. She lowers them, and orders her lungs to
stop. i resist, for a moment, then see her plan. At least, i hope that i
do. Her heart, her lungs, everything, halts. i am aware, still, but she
has died. i am panicked. There are no failsafes. Does she know? My
sensors feel the men come to her, and feel her, searching her pockets. i
suffer this. They leave, her creds and ID in hand, and the tires squeal as
they pull out. i scream frantically and push the electricity to her heart,
jolting it, again and again. There will be no hospital. They will not be
called in time. i will damage her, but it is all that i can do! Her heart
pumps, and goes still again. i rage against it, her fingers twitching, all
that i can affect. Her heart pumps again, and a greast gasp of air is
pulled into her lungs. i access her headphone, and call her magician
friend, the one that she, i now know, dreams of. i know why she twitches
I know. I leave the signal open, and a trace begins. She takes shallow
breaths now, but she will live. I rejoice. I send soft heat through her
body, pleasure. We will live.
I love my mistress.
Hope you guys liked it.