Laoeked1111 Habitica 02-05-2023

Prompt: PARALLEL UNIVERSE- A universe where electronic devices are alive (they can move on their own and talk, and they are also sentient (able to think like humans)).

Thoughts from a Window Seat

It was just a generic lunch period when I had the realization that maybe I wasn’t meant for this life. It’s weird that I never thought about the idea before, but the more I look into it, the more sense it makes. And the more sense it makes, the more I am inclined to act on said sense. I explicate my rationalizations here:

It’s a strange thought that humanity had somehow breathed life into its machines. Millenia ago we thought that supernatural elements had created the stars, the planets that orbit the stars, and the life that inhabits the planets. We thought it was the gods who had given the eternal hourglass its grains of white, silky sand, the galaxies their flocculant and majestic arms, and the trees the egg-laiden nests they so carefully shelter from the beasts of the forest floor. We thought that such powers were theirs to keep and ours to admire from a distance. And what have we done since? We made living, thinking, breathing electronics. I have always been incredulous at the idea: we used to believe in gods; now, we are the gods.

It is not a particularly good feeling that I am a god. Far from it, really, as whenever I hit my foot on a loose concrete slab or lose one of my contacts, I am reminded that the label doesn’t bequeath infallibility. I am also still human – I am a human god. The ultimate oxymoron.

It troubles me that I am not absolved of the primitive obligations of a human. I am still expected to brush my teeth and shower every morning – what would have been the reaction of our ancestors if we went back and told them that gods have to do morning routines? – as I am expected to eat properly and exercise and sleep. I am still required by this archaic fleshy mass called a brain to do things like “take care of my health” and “purchase groceries” and “wonder where the glasses went.” And here is the rub – that it still requires that I have company. Why?

Albeit, this appears to be a rather convenient excuse for avoiding people. I assure you all it is not, but I don’t deny being a hopeless recluse. What can I say? I grew up in a house of machines; you all – whom I have known since I could remember, it seems – are the only people I live with and have lived with. It took me a long time to realize how strange it was to grow up without parents and be the head and only habitant of your home as a three-year-old. I don’t even know if I can call you “people,” but “machine” feels too clinical to describe the only life I ever get to interact with.

Social anxiety is terrible. It is lonely. How do I even begin to tell a group of machines how paralyzing it is? Every day, I sit by myself at the edge of the lunchroom and stare out the window because I have nothing better to do… that’s not really true. On cloudy days, there isn’t anything better to do. On sunny days, I get to stare at my reflection as the sun passes overhead, angled just right for a thin silhouette to form before me. Nothing else is ever in the reflection; it’s just me, with my swollen eyebags peeking out from behind a pink facemask. On sunny days, I get to pretend someone is there with me, even if he looks at me with a countenance filled with either scorn or pity – I never know which. On sunny days, I also get to feel my face warm with embarrassment under my twin’s stare. Do not tell me it’s from the sun. It’s not the sun.

Every morning, I wake up and look at my mirror for five minutes, in which my twin asks me why I exist and what my purpose is. It is a good question, and one that I don’t know the answer to. I don’t know the answer to a lot of questions. Sometimes they seem too trivial for further consideration, and other times too complex for me to understand. It doesn’t stop me from asking them, though, and ruminating over the answers.

It was just a generic lunch period when I had the realization that maybe I wasn’t meant for this life. I thought that I was instead meant for the life of a machine and was accidentally placed in a human form. It makes sense, doesn’t it? I get along with machines. I don’t with people. I never have an answer to what my purpose is, maybe because I was supposed to be given that, like all machines. Instead, people think that I’m human and can find my own purpose, so now I’m stuck floating around the ocean I call “the human world” without one. Being socially anxious doesn’t help; it always feels like people only consider me a tool, toy, or toaster (no offense, Toasty).

It is very exciting that scientists have finally succeeded in human-robot conversions. I arrive at the exigence of my message to you all. I will soon be able to become one of you. I will finally be able to claim that I have a family, and I will find a purpose for my existence. All there is left is to wait. I finally have hope for the future. You all must understand that my character will be changed, maybe destroyed, but please know that it is for the better. I am certain it was meant to be this way. For now though, as I look at the glass separating me from the outside world, I can’t help but see my wasted reflection and say, “What a piece of work is a man.”