Disclaimer: I so don't own Battlestar Galactica. Please don't sue me, I'm only borrowing the characters and situations.

A/N: My first BSG fanfic, and I know it's been done. A lot. But this is just my take on what happened to Sharon during that year. Sorry if you don't like it, but please read it anyway and tell me what you thought. I have some more ideas on how to continue it, but that'll only happen if A) yr 11 doesn't kill me and B) I get lots of pretty reviews. So please please please, review my story.

A/N#2: Oh yeah, and this is a fifteen minute quick job. I haven't had it beta'd, but it was in my head and I had to get it down. Sorry again if it sucks.

And now, onto the story…

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I'm all alone. They don't even guard me anymore. I haven't seen another living being in six months. At least, I think it been six months. It's hard to tell. I didn't count the days at first, so I might have lost track. Not like it matters anyway. I only count now to keep me sane. That shouldn't matter either. I'm not human, they're never going to see me like one, so what should it matter if I'm crazy. I don't need human interaction anyway.

That's the only way I survive nowadays- by remembering that I'm a machine. We don't feel, don't need anything. I mean, I'll always need nutrition- that's one thing that hinders my theory. Surely we shouldn't need to eat. But then I remember that although my digestive system works just the same as a human, my mind (the important part) is what makes me a machine. It's that which simulates my false feelings, and makes me think I'm hungry.

They don't deliver my food anymore. There's some automatic mechanism that pushes it through a slot. I have a private bathroom for everything else. Somehow that's always stocked with soap, clean towels and sheets. I don't know how. No one ever goes in there.

Helo was the last person I saw. He came to see me long after the guards had gone and the food became automatic. He saw me, spoke to me, but I never saw him. I would just sit in the corner or lay on my bed, listening to the pain in his voice but never turning to look at him. Some days I would want so badly just to turn and look at him, but I couldn't risk it. If I did, all I would see would be our daughter- our tiny Hera- who never even got to live. Who was murdered by 'the good guys'. No, I couldn't look at him, or I would want to kill him, and all his kind, and I love him too much to do that.

He came every day for five months, until he finally gave up. I can't blame him for leaving; the planet had more to offer him than this cold metal world. But still, he left me alone, and for that I will never forgive him.

If I thought I was lonely before, what I feel now is a thousand times worse. It transcends loneliness to the highest degree. Sometimes I wish I could re-open the connection to the others, if only to have a conversation again. But that would be disastrous. They would surely find me and come for the humans. As much as I hate the humans for what they did to my child, I don't want them dead. Unless it's by my hand of course.

I wonder how everyone's going down on New Caprica; if they've managed to build it into the Utopia they were looking for. Somehow I doubt it. They're looking for paradise on a planet that's only 20 habitable. Idiot humans. They would have been better off if they'd continued searching for Earth. At leats we'd have had something to look forward to.

They, I mean. Not we. I'm not human; I'm not Sharon. I am Cylon model no.8. I don't need human interaction. I don't need anything, not even food. It's only false cravings created by silica pathways to my brain.

I wonder what would happen if I tested that theory.