Staring up at the snowy sky,
a pale blackened cold surrounds us.
The night screams in the distance,
as it always does, except deep in nowhere land.
I stare my eyeballs at a single star.
Glowing kindly in the night, it says hello, somehow.
—
A textbook may say,
that such a beauty is far far away…
(and it is)
But in my soul, and my heart—
it stays. Closely it waits…
Not only in the sky, but inside
my body and my mind.
I'm the star, at some point.
And it was I as well.
After all,
my only company here is myself and that star…
If all I listen to is science (silence),
It'll just be me by myself,
without any faraway perspective to
take me away from this version of me.
The one that everyone (loves).
—
Connor knew he had to escape more permanently, somehow.
But he also knew he couldn't just leave Hank.
After all, he was still a struggling, now-jobless addict…
Besides, where would he go? He knew he couldn't stay with Jericho…not after being the "deviant hunter." He couldn't go back to Cyberlife. He wouldn't. But could he hold down a job, after all he had been through…?
—
Like it or not, Hank had been a parental figure to Connor, more than the likes of Kamski, or even his Amanda…Hank had actually been there when Connor needed him, even if his way of doing-so was…flawed.
Hank actually said "I love you" to Connor.
That, alone, was enough to keep the android around.
But now, huddled on the couch he used as a bed, in the cold blue of morning…all he could do was cry at the thought. All he ever wanted was to be loved. He thought Hank was the only person who could ever provide him with that…right after Amanda. After the revolution truly began in earnest, Hank had met Connor outside of Chicken Feed. Hank had embraced Connor, warmly, pulling him in like it was natural. He never wanted it to end, but the android knew that it would. Just like Amanda—
Hank had held him, patting his back,
singing to him, as he sobbed under the weight of the world he'd been given…
A taboo moment, in the life of an android.
No…
in the life of Connor.
The deviant RK-800.
—
He sobbed again, trying to be as quiet as possible— wishing Hank hadn't brought Sumo into his room with him…
—
That song that he sung—
he said it was something that Cole enjoyed.
But Cole was not Connor,
and Connor was not Cole.
Everything was always about Cole. Connor knew that when Hank saw him, he only saw Cole. But Cole was a child, so Connor had to be the adult. Sometimes Hank even called him "Cole" by mistake…somehow, it stung even more than when Hank mistakenly called him "Sumo." Despite not caring much for the dog physically speaking, he spent much of his time yelling at the pup to "shut the fuck up!"
'That must be a sign of love,' Connor thought, grinning at the madness of it. A single tear dripped down his synthetic-skinned face, as another thought flooded his dreary mind… "if Hank sees me crying, one single, 'dramatic' tear again…I'll be in for it!" again, he grinned— now lightly giggling at the absurdity of Hank's gripes with him. As a smile played on his face, again, and again, so too did his synthetic heart break…again, and again… He knew, that when Hank awoke, he'd create one of two hells just for his "Con:"
1 - Hank wouldn't talk to him all day, followed by him getting drunk and yelling, and-
2 - To Hank, nothing happened last night. It's "water under the bridge."
He didn't know which was worse. Just that one, inevitably, was coming…
—
Why had Connor chosen to make such a childish mess?
He found he could not longer recall.
—
Born from vices.
The truth invites me in.
I weep at revelations
that children shouldn't know.
These truths never bothered me,
not even at the age of three.
But the way they were revealed…
Is something I wish could be appealed.
I thought I was away
from all that strife.
But, in life…
An unlucky roll of the dice,
meant mine was far from nice.
I wept at my own sacrifice.
The one I thought saved us.
The one I thought was me.
Then there were one,
now there are three.
What am I?
Who are we?
I plea to the cold sky, all nights—
to be " set free."
—
When Connor felt as though he had no other option, sometimes, he lashed-out…
Though, mostly,
he wrote poetry.
He drew…images.
He even sang, when Hank wasn't home.
And now, after years of Hank keeping him inside (the world was dangerous, after all, and Hank had spent all those years telling him, in vivid and horrific detail, why that was)…he spent much of his time finding wooded areas, and simply running where no one could see him. Despite being "alone" in those moments, he still felt the weight of the world staring at him. He never missed a beat. Connor never truly rested. He was never truly "home." All he wanted to do was break. Though running and art were freeing, they did not soothe his aching soul.
But what does it mean to break?
He had thought about it, and that led him to his deepest fantasies… The ones he only thought about at night…the only ones that granted him sleep—
—
No. He was not ready to break.
And he may never be.
He wanted to be strong. Connor is strong!
So, why…
…why…
why, in his mind,
did those cries grow louder…
screams for help…
yelling…
sobbing…
hurting.
Were those Connor's cries…?
NO!
His mind reeled, and Connor's hands flexed as though he were a rabid animal. His lips turned up into a snarl, and, for a moment…
he thought it was time.
But then
-he realized-
it was only to keep him out.
Away from the shards of glass in his own mind.