@Rose_Anette
1989. Escritora, redactora, guionista, poeta y pintora. Licenciada en Ciencias de la Educación, mención Lengua y Literatura Hispanoamericana y Española.
Human machine
Apr 25, 2018 Chapter 1
Albaconia believed that life, true life, went beyond a system functioning perfectly, of homeostatic mechanisms in apparent balance. For her, life was a condition granted by the spirit, an ancient and eternal soul, divine essence coming from the weakness of the gods, a birth of nature that interconnected all as humans. A perfect expression of beauty and the most sublime horror.
In some way, Albaconia had transcended her human condition. Her daily life was the most closest thing to an holographic simulation, a strange scene she had seen in her dreams but which was now part of her nights and her days. She rested for a couple of hours, covering her energetic requirements as any machine would do, surrounded by a rarefied atmosphere which she aspired without being able to fill her lungs. However, her stable system had accepted this new state without complaining and without needing anything else. Her mind began to work as software programmed for survival and repetition of tasks.
Her job was to check and seal a hateful mountain of documents. Again and again it repeated the same procedure: rapid reading, confirmation of codes, confirmation of signatures, stance of stamps, rapid reading, confirmation of codes, posture of stamps, confirmation of signatures, posture of stamps, confirmation of codes, confirmation of codes...
Although she continued to socialize with other humans, the conversations had become little by little an uncomfortable, metallic, unintelligible sound. Any word was heard as the chirp of a badly tuned radio, she could barely stand it. Her hands looked increasingly strange, steel fingers protruding from her still soft palms. Her eyes now worked like the lens of a powerful camera, buzzing like an insect when she looked at something deeper. Her chest became a box occupied by a complex network of cogs and small buckets dirty and full of shadows.
The transformations didn't stop and thousands of questions about her appearance began to arise from her family and colleagues. But... did anyone know anything concrete about the origin of what they called life and how should it be lived? Could anyone say something more accurate than the terrible fact that we would all die one day? If no one in the world could explain something as simple as who was really and what the hell was doing there, why did she have to answer such disturbing questions?
So socially uncomfortable, exhausted and oblivious to all, undertook a long journey in search of his primary mission, that every machine should have. After weeks walking any road, in the middle of a long and lonely road, she stopped to rest next to other cars. She watched her components and thought about what she could add to her new and strange body, which parts could help her become a finished product. Was this possible? Did she have control? Would it get anywhere?
Suddenly she realized the terrible truth: she would never be complete, she would never find his primary mission, nor would she become a true machine. She knew that being turned on and functioning was also part of life, a life that had been no more than a suffering of death and that death was the primary mission. For that, she was born, just like everyone else.
For the first time in a long time, she was like machines, animals, humans and plants: prey to a cyclical system subject to time and without apparent meaning. Putting aside the idea of a primary mission, constituted a principle of freedom.
She began to feel soft, warm, small. Something throbbed inside her, she felt it everywhere, the suffocating air smelled of coal and gasoline, her legs ached, her arms were heavy. But life was doing what it always did: continue.
She searched for a new path and kept walking, hoping to find herself somewhere.
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