18.25.73.16.12.
This is not the coordinates of a robot on a SUNY campus;
it is the coding of the robot’s age
within her body.
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Why does a robot need to be in college when already integrated with knowledge?
Humans empower robots; robots can’t empower themselves.
We, humans, give the knowledge that we know,
and it is only a matter of time before they grow too.
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Is she an android studying human emotion? Not quite.
She is the most humane machine, majoring in English: Writing Arts as a writer.
She is sitting on a blue couch that is connected to the wall of a social college building,
tapping her poetic legacy on her gray laptop to spend time before class.
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She is not a metaphor for being a machine to satisfy society’s role,
strolling around with repetitive tasks more efficiently than a human,
or so technical that every human and robot is linked to her like a satellite connection,
to control every mind, to rule the world– a future dystopia! Not her intention…
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She became a robot not to remove her humanity,
but to foster a humorous identity to cope with her chronic conditions.
On the first semester of her senior year, during a memoir assignment,
her robotic character was born.
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IBS, GERD, GAD, Schizoaffective, Autism, and Dysthymia–
total definition of annoying, painful, persistent, depressing, and incurable.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” People scream before kicking their malfunctioning computers.
Have they ever thought about how their electronics feel?
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She hears those words either in frustration or amusement,
rarely met with a smack.
The robotic woman can’t kick herself over the liquid fire in her throat.
She is trying to ease her problems, not cause more things to be out of place.
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“Yeah, I have errors in my code,” she says. “My organs think they are seventy-three
while my mind thinks it’s fifteen.
The best part is that I look like I’m twelve– get carded a lot. I don’t drink. I just wanted a lemonade.
How does that add up?”
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Looking young, thinking young, but getting older;
nevertheless, she still has a chance to live a semi-independent life.
She keeps a strong mind against an altering body,
a fight against the ache that has long since grown.
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She hears her younger sibling bitterly scream in pain
as they bang their fists against the bathroom door,
having the exact symptoms as her just for a night, for eating mac n’ cheese,
the same food she had. It's luck if she only has leaky oil for four days.
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If it is spicy, prepare for a week-long bathroom episode with painfully common ads inside her head.
Being underweight makes it worse,
so the robot needs to refuel
and pray that petroleum doesn't backfire.
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She persisted for four years in college-
lost her father within the first week,
hallucinated, had panic attacks, and had gastrointestinal flare-ups.
Goal? First, just pass. Now, get Dean's List every semester. Overkill.
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The repetitive routine– relax, clean, eat, do school work, go for a walk, and go to class.
Plus, find the bathrooms, water fountains, or areas with a sweet therapeutic scent.
Only a few weeks away before walking on the podium
to graduate with honors.
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A robot to human, a human to robot.
A robot can look beautiful and healthy forever.
My mind lives forever.
I’m going to die in my own youth.
About the Creator
Ace Melee
-Mainly a horror and fantasy writer.
-I post stories, poetry, and scripts on Vocal. My preferred audience is older teens and adults, but I can adjust for younger teens.
Comments (2)
Gave me a new perception of our electronic/digital equipments... What would they do if they had feelings?
Oh my goodness! This made me feel waves of emotion! Very well done.