by Robin B. Lipinski
Doctors with doctorate degrees
toilet paper confetti upon a sterile wall
sitting behind the slab of mahogany
clasping their hands,
staring at the paper beneath
"You have a condition, not good I'm afraid, I hope you understand."
Not good for me and they are afraid?
Oh hell, come on!
"Yes, it's terminal for those of you born in 2027, after all, there was a war going on."
War: Our victory complete due to massive and total control of that particular conditon.
Biometrics, biological enhancements, thermal malignant reduction, co-polar cellular alterations...
and here today,
in front of another doctor,
A condition terminal?
I truly don't understand.
My name is Itoc375, a most wonderful cyborg created in what is now a war destroyed lab,
and I would have lived forever,
if it were not for those few corrupt particles of human DNA,
but nothing lives forever, as my stored memory shows,
not even I.
© 2012 Robin B. Lipinski
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