Born from a test tube to Them in a room with the blinds drawn, I was empty. Perhaps I was only aware of my hollowness due to the pain I suffered prior to leaving my metal, unforgiving womb and wobbling down the machine’s birth canal. It felt as though every fiber of my being was ripped and rent, molecule by molecule, from my consciousness. After that, I felt nothing.
They gave me to a little girl with bright blue hair and green eyes. It was strange, the pains that the upper classes took to stand out, mark themselves. I was made in a similar vein, of sheet metal and steel, of pins and joints and alien to them. They did not care to name me or speak with me but their indifference was not surprising given our obvious physical disparities. I had a singular purpose and was created to do it well.
Every night, the little girl came to me and filled me with her thoughts, her interests at the Learning Center, her fears of robotic-monsters in the night. I was an emotional, disconnected database.
“I love my parents,” she said once, speaking of Them. “I love my mom and dad because they smell like Lavender and peach oil and buy me dolls and give me hugs.”
I sat and said nothing when she spoke to me. I was her vessel to be filled every day, but I was unaware that there was no release valve and I would eventually experience feeling. After telling me of a particularly horrible instance with a bully one morning, I shed oil tears.
“It’s broken,” They said. And just as I was about to reclaim the emotion they had stripped me of in my creation, the pain returned and I was reborn, sterilized and inhuman.