Section: 1 Entry: 1

A Chapter by em

When I wake up, the program in my brain takes approximately fifteen minutes to start up again.
Therefore, I sit and wait for everything to hardware and allow me to move. Staring at the ceiling.
Alone in my own bed.
Slowly, the blood begins pumping through my veins again, causing me to roll into a sitting position. Causing me to walk to my kitchen and make rose tea. Causing me to sit atop my counter without a shred of modesty and drink caffeine until my eyes are wider. Causing me to open the pantry and snatch up the last of my breakfast bars.
“Politics is… taking it’s normal turn as the new candidates for the election prepare for their first debate.” The news anchor, a short, beautiful woman named Lana from Panama caught herself beaming with excitement.
“Democratic Candidate Maggie Feldman is the first Chinese-American presidential candidate in the history of the United States, a former Senator for New York. And Republican Candidate Frederick J. Abbes is currently the Vice President of the United States. Feldman is falling behind in the polls currently, as you can see here-”
I yawn, turning my cup over in the sink, shutting off the TV, and whistling for my friend.
Milo soars from the corner of the room, landing on my shoulder as if everything were really that easy. His big blue eyes look me over with his usual catlike disdain for human life. His pulse is normal.
“Oh, Milo. I’m sorry to have to leave you again. But my fourteenth interview is today and they want me to be on time.” I sigh, letting him settle on the marble counter before floating upstairs.
Everything blurs, from getting changed to locking the door to riding the subway filled with election posters, gazing at the election advertisements on televisions, running to the office building to the right of the subway exit out of the incoming storm.
My gears don’t work as well when exposed to rain.
“Hello, how can I help you?” The secretary asks at the front desk. His eyes are big and dark brown like the color of my clear, delicate skin. Skin that reaches forward and points to my name from the opposite side of the computer. Skin that fizzes when the secretary’s eyes widen as it selects my name and boils before I draw it away.
“R-right, Ms. Tzipora Garrison… th-the door on your right at the end of the hall.” He stutters and points down the hall.
My legs walk before the saliva in the back of my throat simmers away the fires of my finger. Left. Right. Left. Right.
Walking is perhaps the most interesting piece of my programming, the only kind that isn’t controlled by my own mind, but rather a computer. Every movement of my spine, my bones, contracted into a chip smaller than a computer key.
The door is in my sights. I want this job. Left. Right. In. Out.
Left. Right. In. Out.
The doorknob is cold. In. Out.
The door is open.
There’s a stunning young woman. She has thick wavy hair and big brown eyes like mine. I can look at her and tell exactly who she’s related to:
Lana. She’s related to the pretty lady on the news.
“Hello, Ms Garrison, isn’t it?"

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