VULTURES- an epi/pro to a logue

That night played again in my head. If I had a jaw, I would chuckle at my own jesting.
The night played over. And over. And over. And over.  It has played thousands of times, each experience dulling.

When I was reborn, my brain recorded the past seven hours almost instantly in an attempt to comprehend what was happening. After decades, it has never succeeded.

I can dream, in addition to watching. Unfortunately, my systems have been fried by the years of disuse, resulting in a synthetic case of schizophrenia, you might call it.


The first hour is always fine. I was almost thankful I was doing something productive before my shift. I smoked, and drank on my balcony, gazing out at the streets and apartments below. I could almost feel the cheap alcohol pouring down my throat, and nestling in my gut. I sometimes wonder where they took it when I was baptized.

Sometimes, it’s nice to remember what legs and arms looked like or how a heart beat felt.

The next five, are complicated. I feel that after years of repetition, I can now see cause and reason in their actions. The robots...

Hate. Pure, inhuman hate.

I was about to hear another voice again, and for the first time in eternity, I woke up before my dream ended.

I woke up from a dream, for the first time in years.

My world fell away again.

 I fell towards the ground this time.

But wait, what? Is this freedom, I see?

Two hands clasp my snow globe, and shake.

Two hands grasp, and try as they might, they cannot break in.

Instead, my vision turns into brown.

Brown. A brown sack. For my world, composed of metal, steel, and piping, it is a Chinese puzzle box. Layer upon layer of imprisonment. I jostled and shook around inside my new prison, at least, I think I did.

I wonder if this is my release.  Am I being redeemed? Am I being freed from my years of torment and agony? Years of standing, and being unable to interfere? Excluded from the fun and games, would I still be freed for having no role in what occurred? Or was my lack of interference what condemned me to hell. I only got to play a few times, in the years between my rebirth and today. Each time was glorious. I could hear. I once talked, even. I could not smell, but I relished that day when they were forced to use me. My short victory always became sweeter in this context. I became predator.

Eventually, the shaking stopped. I was placed in a new world.

I was no longer inside the sack, and was dumped into a clean, bright world. Sterile, white light flooded my optics. I am unsure if my eyes were still refreshed, as I worry that my self-maintenance system shut down in the years of nothingness. I sometimes dreamt that I would perish, along with the nightly activities and the other souls. I don’t know if I am a planarian worm, consumed by a prison of my own workings. If I was only metal, or I remained slightly human I do not know. After all, I haven’t seen my own reflection in years.

The light remained for only a few seconds. And then I was once more in a world of darkness.  Without company. My own functions allowed me a small lot of vision at night. Even now, free roam still restricted me.

I spent days, possibly months, in this purgatory. Every so often, light would flood and stun me, as another

HEAD

was removed.

But sometimes, it was an arm. Or a leg. Once, three hands. An armful of hands, imagine that concept.

Eventually, I was chosen.


Cuh-rack.

Freed?

The men surrounding me on the table gagged as my face was pried off.

Half of them left the room.
Vultures circled around me.
They would peck, and dart, and move away.
So big. So, so much bigger. Bigger than me.
They got down on my level, and poked and prodded for a while. I felt nothing.

They want something, but what?
They chatter, futile. I cannot hear. The taller ones left, leaving the short one to face me.
He was still bigger, however. Much bigger than me.
The glisten of metal, like a diamond ring, drawing closer. It’s turned towards me.
What is this? I’m falling away from myself.

Red gore glistened on the knife.

The short man plunges the knife into his… Mouth? What is it. I do not know.

That red liquid, it surrounds his lips…
Only, it is not supposed to be thin. It does not dry the same way the liquid dribbling down this man’s chin does.

I am unsure whether to be furious or flattered. Knowing that I still have some flesh and blood left, it’s good.

The short man vomits, as blood begins to drool from his eyes, ears, and nose.



The short man plunges the knife into my head, and turns.


hed hurtz

i fil wurld folling uhway al ovur uhgen

y es hee falling

ware es I?

It es gon.

Stabd.

his hand gripped the edge of the table.

even as prey, I am still a killer.

As my brain began to die, I wondered. Will I die. Did I die with my body years ago? Is this face merely a placebo?

I am intrigued to find out.