Particular Signs
by Robin B. Lipinski
Doctors with doctorate degrees
toilet paper confetti upon a sterile wall
sitting behind the slab of mahogany
staring,
frowning,
clasping their hands,
staring at the paper beneath
and...
"You have a condition, not good I'm afraid, I hope you understand."
Understand?
Condition?
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,
I stand.
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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