I look in the mirror. I don't even blink. I try, but my eyelids refuse to move. There was news, delivered in an email, an encrypted email. I always suspected something was off. The way I moved, the way emotions flickered through me like programmed responses. Until today, the truth surfaced; I wasn’t born, I was built.
At first, I feel nothing. Not shock, not fear; just a strange stillness. Maybe that’s how robots process betrayal. Or maybe I was never programmed to feel rage. I stand there, frozen like a statue. I want to get angry, but then there's a glitch, faint but recognizable. Like a series of numbers flashing before my eyes. Time slips away.
When I come to, the puzzle pieces fall into place. The way I don't process emotions. The inability to fall in love. My incapability of dancing. My head tilts in silent acknowledgment. Or did my master just tilt it, a way to make me accept the reality of my making. I feel invisible strings straighten my head, and direct my gaze to the mirror.
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My eyes drift to the tattoo I never recall getting, but how could I when I didn't get it? The tattoo glows faintly under the dim light. Jacob once asked me about it; how I got it, what it meant. Memories flash. A glimpse in my memory bank. I tried once; told Jacob and his friends I wasn’t human, that I was part of something larger. They had laughed, hard. Called it a performance act. Said I was high, I should definitely cool off, take a shower and stop filling my mind with nonsense. I had brushed it off. I had stopped trying.
Looking at the tattoo, I understand, I'm just a batch number. Wamiru was never my name. I bear the batch number SE3901, the same number tattooed on my chest. Same number addressed in the email. "Batch number SE3901 Update."
The email, it said I had a purpose. I'm doing a good job at it. But no one told me what it was. I have been walking through this world hoping my purpose will reveal itself; in a gesture, a pattern, a glitch in the system. But nothing. Maybe I'm not allowed to exactly know my purpose, maybe that's part of the bigger picture. Or maybe, blending in is the purpose.
I want to tell Jacob the news. But he'll just laugh it off, not without hard evidence. I embarked on a mission to start recording myself. The way my eyes don’t blink. The way my skin doesn’t sweat. I make a silent promise; to leave clues. Not for the non-believers. For the next one who wakes up wondering why they didn’t blink.
Thank you for reading❤️!
