Model A100
Beep, beep, beep…
The steady thrum of the heart monitor weighted down her
eyelids as she began to slide into sleep, and she banged her hip sharply
against the metal conveyor belt as she caught herself mid fall. “Damn!”
It was a close one. Though her
eyes had closed only a few seconds, the white metal robot arms on her belt had
started to pile up. At least, she thought
they might be arms… she never got to see the finished product. Rumor was that only they were allowed in the
final assembly room. What she saw was a
white metal pipe with screws and wires, her job was to thread the wires through
the pipe, then leave it on the belt for the next unit to continue the assembly.
By “unit” she meant person – or that’s what she used to consider herself,
before they took over.
A whirring noise buzzed into her left ear, rapidly growing
nearer. She felt the dread in her
stomach and the flush coming quickly to her face as she struggled to catch
up. A white metal robot reeled slowly
towards her, sitting on a wheeled platform with the appearance of an
old-fashioned metal table lamp with the hinge in the middle to adjust the
height. The “bulb” was black glass and opaquely dark, though it gazed at her with tired familiarity. The voice plumbed from its platform wheezed
at her, “get back to work.”
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment, then fury. To think that this thing was designed to do
the job she had been reduced to. Only yesterday it seemed she was in her former
reality, saving lives. She thought of
the frigid air of the operating room, her glasses fogging slightly from her
breath under the surgical mask. The
beeping of the heart monitor matched her breath which she realized was too
quick, as she glanced down at the infant lying under the drape. The tube coming from its mouth made it look
like one of those pretend CPR babies she had learned on as a medical
student. The cardiopulmonary bypass
machine hummed next to her, and she was suddenly aware in her peripheral vision
of the nurses and residents watching her expectantly; the scalpel poised in her
left hand. Her heart quickened as the
blood rushed again to her face, “I don’t know what I’m doing!” She glanced up and made eye contact with the
anethesiologist whose eyes above her mask were a mixture of concern, annoyance,
and boredom. They clearly spoke “don’t
fuck this up.”
She closed her eyes, suddenly saw like a fast-forward script
the procedure unfolding on the backs of her lids. She opened her eyes with a gulp and deftly advanced
the scalpel to draw the first few beads of blood along the child’s chest.
A dusty voice wheezed, “Model A100.” Her eyes she found were still clamped shut,
and when she forced them open she felt the sinking realization that she was
still at the assembly line. She sprang
to action assembling as the platformed desk lamp slowly wheeled away. While the pile of phantom limbs beside her
slowly diminished, she tried to recover some of the deftness in her hands as
when she wielded the scalpel. Her fingers
felt numb and clumsy, and she pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes
to hold the hot tears back.
She walked back to her apartment hours later, the sky a muddy
brown that disguised the exact hour of late afternoon or early evening. Too tired to think about food, she slipped
out of her work coveralls and into her velvet sleep suit. She sat down on her charging station and
slipped her feet into what looked like an old-fashioned sleeping bag. At the switch of a button mechanical arms
would soon lift it up and over her arms, cocooning her body and supporting her
neck in her slumber position. Sighing,
she bent over to pick up her glasses and pressed a small button in the wall. A screen flickered on and produced another
dusty voice, this one vaguely female and mutely cheery, like an old-fashioned
child’s toy that spoke but was nearly out of batteries. “What dream for your slumber?” Her face froze into an expressionless mask
for so long that the voice patiently prodded her, the question mark flashing in
a series of dots from the bottom to the top in a vaguely familiar pattern.
“Las Vegas… tonight I shall perform.”
Prompts:
1. Present tense
2. 3rd person limited point of view
3. Image, courtesy Tiffany Combs on Unsplash
1. Present tense
2. 3rd person limited point of view
3. Image, courtesy Tiffany Combs on Unsplash
The sci-fi elements are compelling here: the robot bosses, the bed with the mechanical arms, the ability to choose one's dream before sleeping. I was unsure whether the main character had become part cyborg herself, since she referred to people as "units" and to her bed as a charging station. Great details in the surgery room flashback, which provides context while adding to the tense mood. The last line gave a note of hope, at least for me, that she's dreaming of a nicer place and might be able to escape the assembly line one day.
ReplyDeleteI'm so glad the uncertainty of her identity came through! I want the reader to question which reality is true Thanks so much for your feedback!
DeleteReally strong world building here and an imaginative plot. The medical jargon and description made me believe the flashback. I like how you used the tone of the photo more than the details to inspire you. You nailed the third person limited prompt, but missed the present tense prompt.
ReplyDeleteThank you! The turn of the photo is what really spoke to me, thanks for noticing.
DeleteThank you also for the constructive criticism. I realized I missed the present tense prompt too late to fix it, next time!
What fantastic world building! The flashback to a sick child really drove the point home about how much of a dystopia this world is. As Nate pointed out you didn't nail the present tense (I don't think any of us did, its hard). Anyways, I really enjoyed this.
ReplyDeleteThank you for the feedback, definitely have some room to grow. I'm so glad you enjoyed the content!
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