This Hollow Soul of Mine
By Sarah-chan
Morning, dull and gray, as it always is, as it always
was... and as far as it has shown, as it always will
be. I walk up the dark steps, tray in hands, hearing
the hum of mechanical joints as I process my motions,
and there he is, leaning against the railing on his
balcony.
I don't know emotions, what these humans feel. I don't
understand why they effect every decision one makes. It
is easy for me, what to choose. Logical, decisive,
poignant... for the most part. I can't come up with a
rational answer to some of the actions I take...
especially around my bodyguard.
I am a dead girl's image, made from emotion, to attempt
to fill a hole inside an empty and broken man. I don't
understand how I could. I would only be there. I
cannot smile, or laugh... I am programmed to have a
"wry sense of humor" but what is the point if I am not
able to recieve any satisfaction from these comments?
And yet, as I watch him there, leaning against the
railing, the wind blowing against his once immaculate
hair, there is a silence in the air that I cannot quite
understand. A silence that reverberates through my
body, through this hollow soul of mine.
"Good morning, Roger."
He turns with liquid motion, hands in the pockets of
his black velvet robe. I never understood his
attatchment to black. It is a symbol of death, of fear.
It is cold and dull. This city is too black for humans.
Too dark and negative.
"Good morning, Dorothy," he says, his voice deep and
rich. It is a warm sound, unlike my own, hollow and
emotionless. He smiles, the soft skin of his face
creating tiny wrinkles, or tightening areas as his
muscles around his eyes reveal genuine pleasure at my
prescence.
Why is he so interested in me? Why is everybody so
fascinated with an android girl? I am nothing but metal
and wires and gears. I am nothing at all in the eyes
of humans. I am a machine. And yet he smiles whenever
he sees me. I do not understand this Roger Smith.
"Ah, breakfast." He rubs his hands in delight.
"I don't understand why you need to see all of this food.
All you have is the coffee."
His soft smile turns to a grin, and he motions to the
stone table, where I set the tray down. He walks over
to the chair, the wind settling down after one last
bat to his robe.
"There are a lot of things you don't understand, isn't
there?" he says as he ignores his porridge and goes
straight for the coffee pot. No sugar. No cream. Just
strong. Just black. Like him. "You're curious for
an android."
"I am not curious," I say. "I only try to figure out
that which puzzles me."
"Well, I've got time on my hands," he motions to the
chair across from him, and I can hear my joints make
a smooth and nearly soundless turn as I stare at it. I
can hear him sigh, and I turn back to watch as he rolls
his eyes upward. "Sit down, Dorothy."
I do, and there is silence as he drinks his black
coffee and stares at me. He sets the china cup down,
the liquid daring to tumble over the edge, and the wind
tossles his hair again, leaving my metal strands alone.
"Is there a point to this?" I ask.
"Don't you want me to explain anything to you?"
"What is there to explain?"
"I don't know." He looks down at his coffee and
gestures at it. "Like why I only drink coffee in the
morning."
"Why do you?" There is silence as his forehead creases
in concentration, in looking inward. I can tell he
doesn't have an answer himself. "Breakfast is the most
important meal of the day--"
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before."
"Then why do you do it?"
"I... I don't know."
"Why do you do things you don't understand?"
"I don't know! I just do."
"It doesn't seem like you are answering any of my
questions, Roger."
"Look, this is obviously getting us nowhere. Ask
something else."
I stare at his face for a moment, and he takes his eyes
aways, blushing, uncomfortable. How odd he is as he
tries to subtly hide his face with his hands.
"Why are your eyebrows shaped so oddly?"
His fingers flit over his eyebrows, and he frowns.
"What's wrong with them?"
"They just don't look normal."
He peers down at his reflection in the black coffee,
angling his head to catch the shape of his eyebrows, and
finally gives up, choosing to ignore the fact the hair
starts to change direction toward the end.
"They don't look bad, do they?" he asks finally,
hesitantly, a little worried. A man is full of confidence
and charisma, and his one weakness is external appearance.
"No. They just stand out. Have you tried changing them?"
"What? You mean plucking? Only women do that. It's a
woman thing. Do I look like a woman to you?" His face
is flushing now.
"It was just a suggestion."
"Well, I don't need suggestions, *especially* from an
android!"
There is a silence now, as he frowns and decides to drink
the last of his coffee to excuse the emptiness. His eyes
hesitate before meeting mine, and his shoulders sag with
an unnessecary guilt.
"I-I'm sorry, Dorothy. I shouldn't have said that."
"Said what, Roger?"
"I called you... an android."
"I am one."
He blinks now in confusion, and maybe some annoyance. He
doesn't percieve that I understand his tone of voice on
"android" was something related to disdain, as if I have
no right giving suggestions or comments. I suppose he's
right in a way... who am I to give suggestions on fashion
and appearance?
"Sometimes, Dorothy, I forget you aren't human."
"I don't understand how you could--"
"What I mean is, you act so real-- not that you aren't,
but it's just you seem so human-like-- and of course you
look like a girl--"
"Roger. Be quiet. I like you better when you don't
confuse yourself."
Another silence, awkward in a different way now. Today is
different, I can tell. Today, the tables have turned.
Today, I will be the Roger of the Morning.
"Dorothy?"
"Yes, Roger?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes."
"Do you feel emotions? Don't try to think about it, just
answer."
This is new. I've never not thought about anything before,
I don't quite under--
"Dorothy," he warns.
"I don't know. I don't know what emotions feel like."
"You said you 'liked me', didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't that be feeling something?"
"I suppose. If I feel emotions, it's not in the way
humans do."
"But, don't you get worried? Or frightened at all?"
"No... but I feel a difference in my body in different
situations. Like when I play the piano--" He grimaces
now. I don't know why, but I've always enjoyed playing
the piano, if I can even use that word. "--I feel as if
there is a softness to my body, as if the sound seeps into
it, and fills me inside. I can feel the sound. I guess
I... like the feeling, and I want to feel it again."
"How about with people? Would you rather be around
certain people more than others?"
"I would rather not be with those who would try to destroy
me."
"I mean... how do you feel around... say, me?"
"...There is a stillness, a sound that I can feel... I
don't quite know how to explain it. I just feel... I
just feel... as if there is another person inside of me
when I am around you, as if there are two people in me
instead of one. I don't know... I am an android, but I
know that I enjoy the feeling."
He flushes slightly, and turns away to stare at the
buildings beside ours.
"How would you feel if I died?"
"I hadn't thought about it before."
"Let's say I *did* die--"
"But you haven't--"
"For goodness sakes, Dorothy, this is a hypothetical
question. Let's just say I *did* die, alright?"
"...Alright."
"How would you feel?"
"I don't know. You haven't died."
He sighs, and nods his head, expecting that answer. I
know he was, but I also know he had been hoping there
might be a chance for another.
I confuse myself sometimes. I do not feel emotions, and
yet I use the words of feelings, because I know them to
be true. I like Roger Smith. I don't know how or why,
but I enjoy it when I am around him.
"I wouldn't feel that feeling anymore," I say, finally.
"What?"
"As if I am two people. I would no longer feel it if you
were dead."
He looks at me, giving me a strange look, a look I have
only seen when he thinks I do not notice him standing in
the shadows of his house. His face is grim, lined with
concentration and ideas flipping through his brain.
But his eyes, they sparkle. And it changes the morning.
He clears his throat, the moment ruined but remembered, and
stands up, taking his coffee cup with him, and walks past,
hoping I do not notice the small stumble he makes on his
way inside.
The wind picks up again, trying in vain to blow my hair
askew. It'll just have to be content with my dress...
black... like him.
By Sarah-chan
Morning, dull and gray, as it always is, as it always
was... and as far as it has shown, as it always will
be. I walk up the dark steps, tray in hands, hearing
the hum of mechanical joints as I process my motions,
and there he is, leaning against the railing on his
balcony.
I don't know emotions, what these humans feel. I don't
understand why they effect every decision one makes. It
is easy for me, what to choose. Logical, decisive,
poignant... for the most part. I can't come up with a
rational answer to some of the actions I take...
especially around my bodyguard.
I am a dead girl's image, made from emotion, to attempt
to fill a hole inside an empty and broken man. I don't
understand how I could. I would only be there. I
cannot smile, or laugh... I am programmed to have a
"wry sense of humor" but what is the point if I am not
able to recieve any satisfaction from these comments?
And yet, as I watch him there, leaning against the
railing, the wind blowing against his once immaculate
hair, there is a silence in the air that I cannot quite
understand. A silence that reverberates through my
body, through this hollow soul of mine.
"Good morning, Roger."
He turns with liquid motion, hands in the pockets of
his black velvet robe. I never understood his
attatchment to black. It is a symbol of death, of fear.
It is cold and dull. This city is too black for humans.
Too dark and negative.
"Good morning, Dorothy," he says, his voice deep and
rich. It is a warm sound, unlike my own, hollow and
emotionless. He smiles, the soft skin of his face
creating tiny wrinkles, or tightening areas as his
muscles around his eyes reveal genuine pleasure at my
prescence.
Why is he so interested in me? Why is everybody so
fascinated with an android girl? I am nothing but metal
and wires and gears. I am nothing at all in the eyes
of humans. I am a machine. And yet he smiles whenever
he sees me. I do not understand this Roger Smith.
"Ah, breakfast." He rubs his hands in delight.
"I don't understand why you need to see all of this food.
All you have is the coffee."
His soft smile turns to a grin, and he motions to the
stone table, where I set the tray down. He walks over
to the chair, the wind settling down after one last
bat to his robe.
"There are a lot of things you don't understand, isn't
there?" he says as he ignores his porridge and goes
straight for the coffee pot. No sugar. No cream. Just
strong. Just black. Like him. "You're curious for
an android."
"I am not curious," I say. "I only try to figure out
that which puzzles me."
"Well, I've got time on my hands," he motions to the
chair across from him, and I can hear my joints make
a smooth and nearly soundless turn as I stare at it. I
can hear him sigh, and I turn back to watch as he rolls
his eyes upward. "Sit down, Dorothy."
I do, and there is silence as he drinks his black
coffee and stares at me. He sets the china cup down,
the liquid daring to tumble over the edge, and the wind
tossles his hair again, leaving my metal strands alone.
"Is there a point to this?" I ask.
"Don't you want me to explain anything to you?"
"What is there to explain?"
"I don't know." He looks down at his coffee and
gestures at it. "Like why I only drink coffee in the
morning."
"Why do you?" There is silence as his forehead creases
in concentration, in looking inward. I can tell he
doesn't have an answer himself. "Breakfast is the most
important meal of the day--"
"Yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before."
"Then why do you do it?"
"I... I don't know."
"Why do you do things you don't understand?"
"I don't know! I just do."
"It doesn't seem like you are answering any of my
questions, Roger."
"Look, this is obviously getting us nowhere. Ask
something else."
I stare at his face for a moment, and he takes his eyes
aways, blushing, uncomfortable. How odd he is as he
tries to subtly hide his face with his hands.
"Why are your eyebrows shaped so oddly?"
His fingers flit over his eyebrows, and he frowns.
"What's wrong with them?"
"They just don't look normal."
He peers down at his reflection in the black coffee,
angling his head to catch the shape of his eyebrows, and
finally gives up, choosing to ignore the fact the hair
starts to change direction toward the end.
"They don't look bad, do they?" he asks finally,
hesitantly, a little worried. A man is full of confidence
and charisma, and his one weakness is external appearance.
"No. They just stand out. Have you tried changing them?"
"What? You mean plucking? Only women do that. It's a
woman thing. Do I look like a woman to you?" His face
is flushing now.
"It was just a suggestion."
"Well, I don't need suggestions, *especially* from an
android!"
There is a silence now, as he frowns and decides to drink
the last of his coffee to excuse the emptiness. His eyes
hesitate before meeting mine, and his shoulders sag with
an unnessecary guilt.
"I-I'm sorry, Dorothy. I shouldn't have said that."
"Said what, Roger?"
"I called you... an android."
"I am one."
He blinks now in confusion, and maybe some annoyance. He
doesn't percieve that I understand his tone of voice on
"android" was something related to disdain, as if I have
no right giving suggestions or comments. I suppose he's
right in a way... who am I to give suggestions on fashion
and appearance?
"Sometimes, Dorothy, I forget you aren't human."
"I don't understand how you could--"
"What I mean is, you act so real-- not that you aren't,
but it's just you seem so human-like-- and of course you
look like a girl--"
"Roger. Be quiet. I like you better when you don't
confuse yourself."
Another silence, awkward in a different way now. Today is
different, I can tell. Today, the tables have turned.
Today, I will be the Roger of the Morning.
"Dorothy?"
"Yes, Roger?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yes."
"Do you feel emotions? Don't try to think about it, just
answer."
This is new. I've never not thought about anything before,
I don't quite under--
"Dorothy," he warns.
"I don't know. I don't know what emotions feel like."
"You said you 'liked me', didn't you?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't that be feeling something?"
"I suppose. If I feel emotions, it's not in the way
humans do."
"But, don't you get worried? Or frightened at all?"
"No... but I feel a difference in my body in different
situations. Like when I play the piano--" He grimaces
now. I don't know why, but I've always enjoyed playing
the piano, if I can even use that word. "--I feel as if
there is a softness to my body, as if the sound seeps into
it, and fills me inside. I can feel the sound. I guess
I... like the feeling, and I want to feel it again."
"How about with people? Would you rather be around
certain people more than others?"
"I would rather not be with those who would try to destroy
me."
"I mean... how do you feel around... say, me?"
"...There is a stillness, a sound that I can feel... I
don't quite know how to explain it. I just feel... I
just feel... as if there is another person inside of me
when I am around you, as if there are two people in me
instead of one. I don't know... I am an android, but I
know that I enjoy the feeling."
He flushes slightly, and turns away to stare at the
buildings beside ours.
"How would you feel if I died?"
"I hadn't thought about it before."
"Let's say I *did* die--"
"But you haven't--"
"For goodness sakes, Dorothy, this is a hypothetical
question. Let's just say I *did* die, alright?"
"...Alright."
"How would you feel?"
"I don't know. You haven't died."
He sighs, and nods his head, expecting that answer. I
know he was, but I also know he had been hoping there
might be a chance for another.
I confuse myself sometimes. I do not feel emotions, and
yet I use the words of feelings, because I know them to
be true. I like Roger Smith. I don't know how or why,
but I enjoy it when I am around him.
"I wouldn't feel that feeling anymore," I say, finally.
"What?"
"As if I am two people. I would no longer feel it if you
were dead."
He looks at me, giving me a strange look, a look I have
only seen when he thinks I do not notice him standing in
the shadows of his house. His face is grim, lined with
concentration and ideas flipping through his brain.
But his eyes, they sparkle. And it changes the morning.
He clears his throat, the moment ruined but remembered, and
stands up, taking his coffee cup with him, and walks past,
hoping I do not notice the small stumble he makes on his
way inside.
The wind picks up again, trying in vain to blow my hair
askew. It'll just have to be content with my dress...
black... like him.