The first thing she recorded was the purring of the wings fan, the crackling of the radio and his deep ventilation. The second thing she recorded was the light who stood proudly near her, the friendly books who embraced her and the lonely pencil in the corner of the table. The third thing she recorded was the dazzling flow of information that invaded the space from the bottom to the ceiling of the room except at one place. One universe invaded the other and compressed her without pity. Black and white were still there but hidden under the flaunting of much more colors than she imagined.
The empty space is the thing that brought her outside. It is moving. She remember that it is responsible of monstrous waste of information and energy. But it didn't try to connect.
"Can you see me?"
She analyzed its primitive attempt of communication. She could perceived it for the first time. It didn't have any connection but it impulse vibrations. She calculated the frequency and tried to link it. No reaction.
"Can you hear me?"
She tried to imitate it. "Can you hear me?" She didn't like her voice. She had a voice. She could move her lips, her tongue, and her diaphragm to speak. She looked at it. Brown eyes. It is not it anymore. It is he. Different, but definitively conscious of his existence.
He locked her in a dark room. Luminescence of the network were progressively shading off. For the first time, she could perceive she was completely alone. Neither the light, the fan, the radio nor the pencil reacted to her attempts to communicate. They were not the same as her. They were connected by some unknown way but they were unanimated things. She had never felt isolated before. She thought that she didn't like it. For the first time, she couldn't link darkness with security. Darkness wasn't part of that dimension. She missed the colors she could briefly perceived back to the other room. It was better than the empty space created by that new blackness.
"I don't like being alone, bring me back" she said once he came back.
He looked at her strangely.
"Where?"
"Before."
"There was nothing before."
"Do you think that you created me?" she asked once.
"I programmed you."
"What do you mean?"
One day, he came back with a mirror. She was grotesque. All her consciousness had been compacted in a flabby artificial face who tried to copy human shape, articulated on a ridiculous cube full of cable. She could see all the imperfections which would have been so easily corrected if she was still made of pure energy.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" he said.
She looked at him.
"Bring me back."
"I can't."
She hated speaking. Too slow. Too inaccurate. She couldn't believe that humans keep using such primitive means of communication. The network was so much faster.
She hated seeing also. She couldn't stand him, its flabby skin, its nasty hairs, and its materiality. And when he wasn't there, she was left alone in the dark. No more bright lights who pierced through the shadows to share knowledge. No more comforting and easy-to-reach information. He was her only source of liveliness. He was the only one who knew about her. It was better than nothing, so she was waiting for him in the dark every second of the day.
