Let’s be real.
I’m a homeless cyborg with no where to go. But honestly, it’s like like my life before was all rosy anyway. My family life wasn’t great. My parents played like they cared, but now that I’m gone… I doubt that they miss me. Them thinking I’m dead probably relieved them of a lot of stress and work I supposed. Obviously I’m not, but that’s the impression people are meant to have. Because the Marla I was is no more. Now I’m some weird human/robot hybrid. The people who created me refer to me as a Mech. I’m a cyborg. It’s fine really in the sense that I am what I am…
But I don’t have a human heart.. and part of my brain is robotic too. Does that mean I’ve lost who I am? Do I even have a soul? Are the emotions and memories I have mine, or the product of these new parts?
I guess if I’m worried about it some part of one of those answers has to be a yes.
I decided the “program” my re-creators had set up for me was NOT what I was expecting. It bordered on bad guy territory. I am not a spy. I am not a tool for people to use. I never signed a “terms of service” or anything so they can fuck right off.
I bet they’ll try and catch me. And I bet they implanted a tracking device of some sort for that exact purpose. But I’ll keep running as long as I can.
Sometimes I long for what I used to have. Then I remember that the people in my life that said they cared about me never really showed evidence of it, so why miss them? Why look back at all?
I want to find somewhere to start over. I’d have to be sure those people aren’t looking for me anymore, but that’s the plan. I’m going to only have people who care in my life… like, actions not just words.
My home sucked, my family sucked, my life was below average and no matter how hard I pushed to get something better nothing ever changed. When I really think about this is exactly what I needed. Well, the robotics maybe not so much, but a chance to start over… definitely. New Marla can be whoever she wants, and go wherever she likes.
If only I could figure out where I want to go… and know whether or not I’m being tracked. Paranoia is NOT a good feeling. And the New Marla cost those people a pretty penny. I’d be looking for me if I was them. I am pretty impressed with my escape. I guess being mundane the whole time beforehand let them think I was less of a risk.
The whole time they had me locked up while they worked on me I was just so… depressed. They had me totally jacked on drugs while they did surgery after surgery after surgery. At one point they started adding in anti-depressants because I became so lifeless they worried there would be no point to it all if I was a useless bag of bones. I guess it worked, or helped or whatever…
Because when they were going to transport me to some sort of adult-foster-home situation they let me move unrestricted and I took my chance to run. They were just totally unprepared for it. Apparently a little fresh air perked me up and got me moving. I think I ran for like three hours before I even took a break.
Towards the end they started revealing the plan they had for me and… no. I get to control my life. At least, I hope I do. Honestly I have this fear they’ve got me on remote control and one of these days my heart will just stop. Or I’ll go brain dead. But until then, I’m working on starting over. I at least can try.
All know is that my feet can keep carrying me, and I’m never going back. To my old life, or to those people. I’ll find a place where I belong, and people don’t pretend to be one thing and are really some other thing. Which is ironic, of course because I’ll probably have to lie my ass off to fit in anywhere. Who would accept a girl who looks harmless and is really cyborg monster?
I guess I’ll see when I get… wherever I’m going.
I can’t wait to have a roof over my head, and a bed to sleep in every night. It sounds dumb but right now I miss those little things the most. I mean, let’s be real. Sleeping in the woods and eating handouts from shelters or out of dumpsters is pretty low.
It can only go up from here, right?