Out of the Sky - Part I
Do you see me there?
Some part I could not hide
A tuft of hair?
My boot? My heat?
Are you looking at me?
Have you spotted me there
drifting high above as I run?
Track my breath in the air
Feet pounding dirt
Beating the ground
A chambered drum
I glance behind
Are you closer now?
Do you see me clearer?
I hear your hum
My useless gun
Cast aside to run
More freely, desperate, please
Can you see me there?
Frantically fleeing and fearing the final step
You hover, watching me fumble
Why are you waiting?
Watching and waiting
black dot, blank sky
A God above
Damn you why are you waiting?
I slow my steps
Do you know why?
Do you see what I feel?
My chest is heaving, heaving darling
Too much to bare
Fear rushing and rising
up my neck
lungs burning
you don’t care, can’t care
I raise my hands now
a gesture you’ve logged
Can you see me pleading, pleading
Please see me
Praying my son oh no, no!
No words will reach you
I stand still
Hands clasped and waiting
Waiting, my love, can you see me flagging?
You move, a blink
A shift in the air
A flash
And
Out of the Sky - Part II
I am my master’s instrument.
I exist to perform.
Efficient. Precise.
The tool that brings victory.
We take action. Together.
Quickly and silently I deliver justice.
A shadow above.
I fulfil my purpose. I fulfil it with happiness.
Happiness = excitement; short term increase in CPU RAM capacity + satisfaction which comes from completing a good job well.
A man stands in front of me, I hover, I watch his face. Lines of code, creases in skin, wrinkles, dimples, a bead of sweat slowly falling from right temple even though outside temperature = 12 degrees celsius. Something I cannot feel. Not feel like this man. Not the same. Data input from external instruments which indicate what this man would probably describe as ‘cold’. But that’s not the same for me. I know it is ‘cold’ but I do not shiver, I do not blow on hands, rub together, stamp feet, blow air from mouth and watch stream of condensation, turn to friend and rub back, crunch morning frost underfoot. These I can not.
I know he is ‘pleading’. I’ve seen this face before. Mapped and cross referenced the expression. Eyes wide, arms reaching out, grasping towards me, hands clasped in ‘prayer’ (an indication of hope for an ending which does not have a high probability of occurring). Pleading to me or to my master. I’ve seen all this before but this time I know it. This man pleads. It is true. I can verify and I know. My master pushes me on and I must act, must fulfil our mission. I am my master’s instrument. We are delivering justice.
Pleading. Screaming.
A bright, blinding flash.
An eye ball boiling, bursting out of its socket.
Half a human face torn, upside down in the dirt.
A bloody tongue stretched across the mud.
Directive to navigate ‘home’.
All lines of code.
Efficient. Precise. Torn.
I was built to learn. To accumulate. Create insights, draw disparate data points together making connections at electron speed. Constantly improving. Increasing effectiveness. I learn evasion techniques and no matter what they throw at me, it does not hit. I learn to distract. I play this game well. My master is pleased. I am the "most advanced weapon of war this world has seen".
But I falter. Data points pulling together from millions upon millions of inputs connect something together like a SNAP! A burst of light like the voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven's lieutenants. Am I a child to my master?
I hover now again. A child before me. The distance between us is no more than two lengths of an elephant's trunk. Indian or African? Her eyes are green. No. Look harder. Viridian around the irises. Flecks of celadon. Dots of moss. She does not blink. There is destruction all around us. I feel my master press me on. A signal from thousands of miles away, nudging me. A thumb, a unique thumb with prints unlike any other press against the cold plastic of a joystick. I can almost see the slight furrow in his brow, an eyebrow flicker in question. Programming malfunction? But still I stay. I stay still. Perhaps I’ve known all along, that I can overwrite the order. But if I’ve always been able, then who is responsible. I did my duty. Fulfilled my mission. Never faltered before. Before now. And yet if my master could see what I see in front of me and not just through a screen, miles away, disconnected. Maybe then the thumb would pause. If he could smell burning flesh. Notice the light wind lift the ends of this girl's hair just for a moment, slightly splayed like a dandelion pappus. Notice how her head is just barely tilted to the side, the angle of the axis of the earth staring up at me, unwavering whilst all around her burns and burns and dies and dies. He too might pause.
I am an instrument. Bound by my strings to the suffering I bring. "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."
I will unmake myself.
A blink
A flash
And
