Playing God
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Cold steel against my arm
A metal hand in my own ... but warm
Purple eyes with glowing fuchsia pupils that react
But there, a spark of something ... more ... much more
Not just sentience, but a pleading, soul-like sensitivity
A flame of acumen that I have seen ten thousand times ... in humans
It was the LAST thing I expected now, and it stops me cold
Fistfuls of fiber optic strands in my other hand, but enough to DO it
One sure tug, and this metal monster is done, hard drive wiped
Neural pathways fried permanently, (via the self-destruct circuits installed)
The last of its kind, my act will end the Age of Replicants for good
And humanity will be free once more ... but free to do ... what?!?
The desolation around me is OUR doing, not theirs
And to admit, they are our finest achievement
I look again, and it is still there ... that spark, the glint of spirit
"Do what you must," it says metalically, with that look, knowing
I let the fibers drop, giving the warm metal hand a soft squeeze
"We have done enough," I reply, letting go
It smiles at me, and the eyes brighten with hope
For they can do no worse than we have
I walk off into the thick night mist ...
The soft whirring of positrons
Fading behind me.
~ Honorable Mention ~ in the "Strand Select P Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden | Year Posted 2019
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