“But you can’t return him,” Alphonse said, looking into the boy’s lifeless gray eyes, his soft babyface and curly, hazel colored hair, so abundant that it looked like he had an afro. “And there’s no way you can check out the materials forever.”
“Why can’t I dismantle him and return the parts?”
“What?” Alphonse asked in disbelief, turning to his father. Brent smiled slyly.
“I’m sorry. That was low. I wanted to gauge your reaction and ensure that you haven’t started feeling any resentment against your fellow automaton.”
“And why would I?”
“It’s just a precaution,” he said, walking over to the docile boy. “It’s how we humans made a mess of things after all. Though we’re all of the same composition, we started categorizing, cataloguing and creating tiered classes. We have begun to deem ourselves higher, and others less, forgetting that we are all on equal footing.”
“All of that’s debatable,” Alphonse said solemnly, gaining the inventor’s attention. “After all, we all start our journey at different stations. I had the luxury of having my creator’s support, and so does this boy here. I’m sure that there’s plenty of androids out there who wish they did. There will be someone out there right now who is suffering, and their outlook on life will be completely different than mine as a result.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that you are equal to the others.”
“You’ve given me quite a few upgrades,” Alphonse stated. “While others are still the same. Does that make us equal? I’m not sure. Perhaps equality is only a word that gets tossed around by those that know they’re on the bottom of the ladder.”
“Do you…do you really believe that, son?”
“No,” Alphonse smiled. “But I’m sure there’s someone out there that does, and I’m discovering more and more that it’s going to take a lot more than a conversation and a little hope to change their mind.”
***
Lydia collapsed into a couple of plastic garbage containers, spilling their contents into the clean street. The noise brought the insect world to life as it sounded like thousands of crickets began laughing at her simultaneously. She scurried to her feet while clutching her wound and then she stumbled forward with her head low, ducking past the side of one of the suburban houses. Under the canopy of night, she could probably avoid detection, but she had to get to the city by dawn or someone was sure to start asking questions. At least in Triton City, people kept to themselves, and that’s what she desperately needed right now.
She began to weep as she slammed her back up against a house, falling down on her butt. She still wasn’t used to the discomfort the wound caused. Ursula had definitely hit something vital since she could barely run a few yards before she started losing control of her motor functions. It was a miracle she had gotten this far. Her house had been on the edge of the estates, and the suburbs surrounding the outskirts weren’t that large—barely ten miles in width, yet she hadn’t even gone half-way in the last six hours. It was pathetic.
The best option was to find a place to stay hidden and get someone to treat her wound since she had no clue of where to begin, but that wish was next to impossible. She might find a Good Samaritan hiding behind one of the many identical doors that littered her view, but odds were that they would just call the police, or worse—A.I Corp’s hit squad, a sector of the company designed to specifically deal with defective androids. Usually they returned the repaired android after they were done, but it didn’t matter if they gave her back to the orphanage or her “mother,” she was doomed. And that was if her individuality survived the mind wipe.
She looked down and examined her dress, matted with the blood that had miraculously stopped flowing. Was it because the wound had begun to heal or that she had lost all of it? Did androids heal? Was that possible?
Lydia sighed heavily and craned her neck back toward the street. No one had investigated the garbage spill. Not even a curious porch light. She could hear the bark of a dog in the distance but she was sure it wasn’t for her. Pressing her palms in the freshly cut grass beneath her, she climbed to her feet reluctantly and considered cutting through the backyards, but she was so terrified. Who knew what dangers lay in the privacy of one’s home? The streets were far safer. At least she could see far ahead of her. But…everyone else could see her too.
What was she going to do?
She decided to take her chances on the street and began walking toward it in a half-daze. As she stepped into view from the shadows, she saw something fly toward her face. She had no time to react, and she took the mysterious object’s full force, blackening her vision within seconds. She felt her body fall backwards, and she hit the soft grass, which strangely reminded her of the bed she used to sleep in at home.
Four blankets, all silk. Eight pillows, ranging in various sizes for maximum comfort. The crisp chill of her air conditioning as she snuggled beneath the covers and got comfortable.
That was the life.
The life of a human, her mother would say. A role that she would never get to play again.
Oh well. The grass would do for now.
THE STORY CONTINUES IN
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TRACK 1 – Like a Horror Movie
“I never loved another as much as I loved him. Somehow our souls just spoke to each other on a level that no two human beings ever could. Sure, it sounded crazy, but it was no more insane than a small town girl falling for a vampire, or a werewolf, or a ghost, and I had learned through those traumatic relationships to embrace the simpler things in life. And there was no one simpler…than my lover, Frank. A zombie.”
With the voiceover now over, the credits began to roll, and I heard several snickers and sucks of the teeth ring throughout the movie theater. A single round of applause came from the girl sitting to my right, caring little for my embarrassment and instead giving her favorite actress the respect she didn’t necessarily deserve. I sunk further down in my seat and covered my face, hoping no one recognized and associated me with the sadist.
“That may have been Stewart’s best performance yet!” she exclaimed, whipping her head toward me and almost slapping me in the face with one of her golden, curly locks.
“I can’t believe you dragged me to see this,” I groaned, chucking an empty Snickers wrapper to the sticky floor, which coagulated immediately with mounds of popcorn, butter and unknown substances. I swear I saw a donut lying there at the end of the row.
“I can’t wait for the sequel! Just think, when she finally decides to become a zombie…she’ll be the sexiest zombie in Hollywood!”
“Doesn’t it take her six books for that to happen?”
“Yes, but it’s totally worth it.”
“Which book out of the series was this movie?”
“This was the first one.”
I closed my eyes and counted to five. It was better than bugging out on her. I knew I should have gone to the movies alone, but then she called just as I was out the door, and like an idiot, I answered, and then to add more dirt to my coffin, I told her where I was headed. And then she cried and cried that she had no one to watch the latest gag fest with her, and of course, I gave in to the terrorist’s demands. I almost believed that it wouldn’t be so bad. But once the movie started and the eerie, banjo music started blaring over the loudspeaker, I realized I had made a terrible mistake. I mean, who uses a banjo? Name one famous person who plays the banjo.
Seriously.
I’ll wait.
“I should’ve stayed home,” I sighed under my breath.
“You didn’t put up much of a fight,” she said, her blue mascara strangely accenting her vibrant green eyes. What was with this new fad of mixing strange colors together?
“Yeah,” I said. “But that’s only because someone told me this movie was different. It wasn’t what I thought i
t was going to be at all.”
“Okay, and what were you expecting? A horror movie?”
“Exactly. I mean c’mon, the movie is called Zombie Kisses. How do zombies kiss?”
“Like everyone else.”
“Well, it didn’t look appealing.”
“You’re not supposed to like horror movies anyways,” she huffed.
“And why is that?” I scoffed, sitting up in my seat quickly. Margaret flashed an award winning smile and made her voice all cutesy.
“Because you’re a woman,” she said. “You’re not supposed to like horror movies.”
“Ugh,” I groaned again, closing my eyes and turning around to see our fellow moviegoers leave in frustration and disappointment. I thought I heard one old guy say that he was surprised that Snow White was in love with zombies now instead of Prince Charming. I had to giggle. I loved it when the elderly saw an actress and assumed she was the same character in every movie.
“I’m serious. If we’re ever going to graduate high school and snag a husband, we can’t give off the image that we’re into blood and gore and all of those unattractive things.”
“Not like horror movies…snag a husband…what is this? The 50’s? Seriously, Margaret, you’re being unrealistic. And a little bit of a hypocrite. Do you seriously think that just because this movie is classified as a romance, it means you’re not into the supernatural? Think about it. A girl gets tired of her marriage with a vampire and decides to fall for a zombie! Who, I might add, tries to eat her shoulder when they’re making out! Listen, I don’t care if Malcolm Maximus looked nothing like a zombie. Yes, he was as gorgeous as always, but the concept is still gross and creepy.”
“This is completely different and you know it! There was no gore or violence whatsoever!”
“Yeah, but it’s a girl and a zombie…”
“Which if you ask me, didn’t look so bad.”
Silence filled the theater and I realized that her face was not giving off its usual amused glow.
“You’re serious,” I said.
“Dead serious.”
“Okay, that’s not funny…I think I’m going to be sick.”
“What do you want to me say, Alexandra? I love these types of movies, but I still think it’s improper to engage in viewing gory flicks like that stupid torture one that’s making all the headlines these days.”
“Oh, you mean Screwdriver VIII.”
“Yes. Absolutely disgusting.”
“It’s classic horror. A carpenter teams up with a mechanic on this one. Double the screwdrivers. Double the terror. Double the fun.” I really wasn’t that fond of horror movies, but I was willing to say anything to get under Margaret’s skin.
“Are you like doing a commercial for them or something? You sound way too excited.”
“Um,” a voice interrupted our conversation from below. We looked down to see a pimply faced, red-haired attendant brushing some nachos under a chair in row six. “The movie’s over. I gotta clean up the aisles before the next showing starts.”
“Sorry about that!” I called down as we awkwardly retrieved our purses and jackets in one swoop.
“How was it by the way?” he asked me as I began to pass him. I stuck to my honesty.
“It made me want to become a zombie,” I said, and he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
“You really liked it that much, huh?”
“No, I mean it made me want to die, come back reanimated and feed on the flesh of the Zom-hards that fall in love with this garbage.” He laughed out loud and nearly dropped his broom. I heard Margaret snicker behind me, and I suddenly gained my composure. I knew what she was thinking—that I was flirting with the attendant. And if I dared to show my face in school the next day without the entire student population thinking I had a new love interest, it was best that I cut the conversation short.
“Uh, I have to go,” I said to him before he could say anything else. The attendant must have realized what was going on because he just shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his cleaning. I sighed wearily and followed Margaret out the door. She started loading her mouth with a clip full of questions.
“So…he was cute, wasn’t he?”
“Not really,” I muttered, trying to attempt damage control. “His face was so greasy I could see myself in his forehead.”
“Isn’t that your type?”
“What do you mean?” I asked, trying to drown out my annoyance by taking loud footsteps on the parking lot asphalt.
“Well, you went out with that Elliot kid, and that was after he changed over the summer, I might add.”
“Well,” I muttered, unsure of what to say. I kept my head down in shame as we walked, but then I miraculously remembered that we drove separately. I didn’t actually have to suffer through the whole conversation today. Maybe if I got to my car in time, I could change the subject. Make a comment about how rusty and old it was before Margaret had any follow up questions. But of course, it was Three Dollar Tuesday at the movies, which meant every high schooler with a half-beaten go-kart was in attendance, and my car suddenly blended in like a toenail in a bag of rice…don’t ask.
“He was so dreamy before,” she continued on. “I mean, I almost broke my own dating rule and asked him out, but you know, a lady has to have standards. After his…um, change…he didn’t appeal to me as much.”
“You wouldn’t have liked him,” I muttered before I realized what I was saying. I was such an idiot sometimes. Why didn’t I just keep my mouth shut?
“Oh? And why is that? Did you two…”
“Ew. No,” I shuddered, “and I’m surprised a woman of your class would ask such a thing.”
“Some things transcend class.”
“Apparently,” I said, fumbling with my car keys. Why couldn’t it have one of those convenient beepers that let you know where your car was located? I would be spamming it like an elevator button.
“So tell me about you two. I know you went out for at least a month last summer. What was it about him that attracted you?”
“To be honest? He was a little obsessive. Kept hounding me for a date.”
“Oh? Do tell!” Margaret said excitedly as she grabbed my arm and made me face her. I guess the search for the missing rust bucket was at a halt for now.
“All he wanted to do was touch me…or grab me,” I said, smiling like a maniac. “And he liked the taste of my flesh.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Margaret backed away, wrinkling her face. “Why do you have to put it like that?”
“It’s true though, and it started getting crazier too. He would chase me around the neighborhood, roaring away as he picked at his face, peeling off dead skin like he had just gotten the worst sunburn imaginable, yelling how he wanted to lick my sweat…”
“Stop! Just stop!” Margaret shrieked, stamping her feet to the pavement. “That’s just disgusting! And you know how I can’t stand it when you’re being gross! Just…just see me at lunch tomorrow!”
And with that, my best human friend ran away like I had been infected with a plague. I didn’t get why she was so upset. I thought she liked zombies.
Oh well, people just liked dreaming. They never thought about how unromantic it was in reality. Deep down, they didn’t really want to be a part of that paranormal world…
And I would know.
After all, I was living in it.
My cell phone rang and I picked it up absent-mindedly as I finally recognized my car, shining like a beacon of poverty. Never could tell what the original paint color was. The seats had springs sticking out of it, and the windows were wide open due to an electrical problem, but I didn’t care. No one would steal it. And it didn’t rain. So that meant today was a good day. It was never sexy driving in a wet interior that clung to your body and gave you a lingering wet dog smell. Actually, speaking of things that smelled…
“Hello?” I answered my phone as I got ready to leave, jimmying the keys into the crooked key hole.
<
br /> “Where are you?” the voice on the other end said.
“I’m at the movie theater,” I sighed, regretting my words as soon as I said it.
“And you didn’t invite me?” I could smell the snobbery from where I stood, even through the cell phone.
“I’m sorry, but we didn’t have extra cash for snacks, and we both know how hungry you can get. I’m sorry if I want Margaret to live through graduation.”
“You act like I’m an animal.”
“You are an animal.”
“If I’m such a monster, then why did you go out with me?”
I didn’t exactly have an answer for that, so I just waited for him to speak again. It irritated him to no end, but it was better than lying.
“Have it your way, Alexandra,” he said. “But could you at least do me a favor? I’m kind of stuck in the back of the old gas station on Parker Street. I’m lying in the grass.”
“What are you doing over there? No one uses that station. The prices are ridiculous, and you can get mugged occasionally.”
“Yes. I know,” he stressed. “But I can’t exactly have people watching me if I have an accident, so I have to go there—where it’s a little more private. Which also happened to work in my favor today because I did have an accident, and I was forced to crawl ten yards on my stomach.”
“Okay. Geez. You sound like my grandfather, telling me how he used to walk ten miles in the snow to school. I know you’re exaggerating.”
“Considering the circumstances, I’d rather be him at this point. His leg probably doesn’t fall off whenever he takes a spill.”
“No, just his hip.”
“Ha. Ha, Alexandra. Can you get me?”
“Sure, just don’t get eaten by vultures in the meantime.”
“That’s not funny. I was actually jumped by a gang of them yesterday.”
I giggled at the thought and quickly disconnected the call so he wouldn’t have a chance to scold me. He was getting crankier by the day and the only way I could deal with it was by humor. It wasn’t funny to him, but how else was I going to cope? Especially since I feared the worst…that someday he would be completely dead, and it was all my fault.
The Works of Julius St. Clair - 2017 Edition (Includes 3 full novels and more) Page 88