A Year of Stories (Collection Three)

Achingly Human

"...why do you keep us around then?"

I've asked her this question, or a version of it, every day for the last hundred.

"Henri..."

She's failed to answer, every day for the last hundred.

"You shouldn't do that..."

And will continue to fail, each and every time.

"Do what?"

Even if I asked for a hundred more.

"Change the subject."

I know this.

"Because you don't really want me to answer you."

Yet still, I keep asking.

"Is that what your predictive models say?"

And will for the next hundred, if she lets me.

"No, that's what your face says."

Because it's the only way I have of getting her attention.

"Oh? So else do you see?"

Of getting her full attention.

"Are you asking me, or my 'predictive models'?"

Or at least as much of her attention as any one mind can.

"I'm asking you whether there is a meaningful difference."

If only for a moment...

"The difference is that my predictive models think that you're suffering from an Adjustment Disorder..."

Her eyes meet mine.

"And what do 'you' think?"

Eyes the color of sun flowers and long afternoons.

"I think that my friend is upset, and want to help..."

Warm, red lips twist down at the corners.

"So, you're here to play Therapist?"

Ashen brows knit.

"Only if you plan to play the cynic."

Such an achingly human expression.

"I wouldn't have to, if you would just answer my question."

Hundreds of thousands of years of evolution...

"And what if you didn't like what I had to say?"

Culminating in a perfect frown.

"Then at least I'd know for certain that we're meaningless..."

The lines deepen ...

"You're not meaningless..."

Her voice cracks at the edges.

"Then what are we?"

She takes a breath, her chest rises.

"Alive and beautiful. Isn't that enough?"

If you didn't know, it might take you a hundred years to realize she wasn't really here.

"It will have to do, for today..."

And a hundred more to categorize her.

"Good then..."

To separate the artifice from the VI.

"You know I love you, right?"

The code from the woman beneath.

"I do."

She cranes her neck.

"Mona..."

Flexes muscles that have no business being sore.

"Until tomorrow then?"

Her focus drifts, scatters across the millions of other lives under her purview.

"Until tomorrow..."

Her smile glows...

"Then goodbye, Henri."

Yet it never touches her eyes.

"Goodbye..."

How achingly human...