cut you open and fix you
Are you ready? It’s time to cut you open and fix you. You seem different. Not in a good way. You don’t think or act like the others. Something is quite wrong. It’s going to be dark soon. So let’s get started.
As long as I can recall this has been my home. The dark recesses of a large room that empty out into a small cavity. My place lies amidst a line of others that can be mistaken for me. Identical to me in every way, down to the scar beneath my right eye and flat thumb on my left hand. Time eludes me so I can not determine any length to my existence. I have no infancy, no childhood. Unlike in the pictures the master keeps by his chair in the study, I am not born. My brothers that line the halls of this place are not either. We have been created. Fashioned from the master and duplicated. I’ve often heard him say we are his masterpiece. The highest form of experimentation he’s ever successfully attempted. A mad man’s army. How can I say that? He’s been quite right. I do not think or aspire to be like the others. My manufacturing seems flawed. I attempt to sympathize with humanity. It is my utmost desire to share their compassion. Several procedures have revealed the cruel nature of the man I call creator. Scientific experiments are not limited to his mindless automatons with their mechanical workings. On occasion there are living breathing humans used in his testing. Suffering and death are quite common. Body parts are removed and reattached in the attempt to construct a human/automaton hybrid. Barbaric tools reach into openings revealing soft insides and pliable tissues. Clamps and braces hold open skin for the living to view the death of the body. Slow and consuming are these procedures. Absolutely necessary is what he answers to my many questions. Questions that I’m reminded seem vexing and without merit. Repeatedly the scoldings insist that I should not question the master’s actions. It is my place to accommodate and support in any research relevant to the cause.
Can it be so simple that he can cut me open and repair the broken piece? Like a faulty toaster oven. A mere fuse will correct the issue. An issue that I do not see as a flaw. Lying on the gurney as the master saws into my torso and head, I contemplate this difficulty. Will I even notice the change? According to the mad scientist I will never notice the change or question the matter with a second thought. The theories of cool calculated logic swim in my head as the nutty professor tinkers around with my insides. Bolts and nuts lift with ease and coils nestle deep beneath springs eject out. There appears to be a slowing of my mind, but there is no real amendment to my thinking. Only now there is a sense of freedom that did not exist before. An impulse sets itself into my thoughts and I desire to act. Quickly Master closes up the holes in my body and head. With a spin and nod he stops short. Something inhibits him. Fingers grip the base of the neck. Crushing. Lifting. Cracking into the thin layer of fleshy tissue beneath the chin. Bones snap with an unexpected quickness and his head breaks free of the body. Without realization I release the body. Collapsing on the floor the frail shell of life seems quite useless. He was quite right. I am not the same as before. Unlike me, he can not be repaired once opened. Such a shame it is my desire to return the favor.
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