Robots Don't Have Feelings
"Elliot."
The sound of her voice made me wish I was dead. My pulse quickened and my breathing became shallow. I studied the Moroccan rug beneath my feet, head down, eyes on the living room floor. I always found it odd how my palms could still manage to sweat even during the times I was entirely frozen in fear.
"Shit." She took a long drag on her cigarette before continuing. "You know I don't want to do this. This is my last one... Ugh, put your hand out."
I held out my arm in silence and compliance. My heart thumping loud in my ears as she pulled my arm closer.
"This never would have happened if you would have just do as you're told…"
There was the smell of burning flesh. I don't feel this. I'm just a robot was what I tried to tell myself. Robots have no feelings. The pain was too much for 5 year old me and before I knew it hot, angry tears fell down my face. God, I hated my mother.
Preview of sequel Robots Don't Know Angels:
- I never played at recess. The concept behind such a senseless activity never appealed to 7 year old me. What was the point of swinging around on metal bars until I fell down or twisted my arm? What was the point of chasing around other classmates that I was supposed to call "friends"? I don't need a "friend" if they call me a freak behind my back, pointing and whispering and laughing. I don't need them. I don't want them. -
