"androids" poems
Feel empty in your post apocalyptic City of Angels,
Where not even your pets are real!
An electric android, a sheep or a frog,
The whir-flutter of micro-electrical wings of a butterfly.
Good, and so you ought.
Now grab the handles of your empathy box,
And in a shared virtual hallucination –
Feel: empathy, depression, pain, delusion and despair,
The outré myriad gifts of consciousness.
Billions of discombobulated and disconnected wrecks:
Adam's sons; Eve's daughters,
And among them simulations too,
Fakes! androids!
A phony circuit of implanted semi-conscious memories,
A hive of neural malaise!
Welcome to our world;
know how dead inside I am.
You, yes, you:
Need a pet to make you more complete?
Maybe you can afford
A Fake Fakir Flake like me who looks like Jude Law,
Sounds like Richard Burton,
And silently romances you like Rudolph Valentino.
Come and stick what’s left of your mind,
In here,
In hair,
Hear her:
har, har, har…
A box of lies...
A voice, Mercer's,
With texture from an age you neither lived in nor dared in:
Al Jerry's, a TV actor,
Droning on in pre-selected tones.
The real thing, the men, the women, the children - their animals -
Made in the wild, wild desert,
In the green pulsing savannah,
On the open crusted sea;
Now too, washed, choked, and drained,
Too many spliced and diced mutations,
Iterating your image:
The thing that was my heart,
My Child, now its imitation.
Oct 15, 2017
Oct 15, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
No matter what I do
theres always something
I want more
Like a camera
or a trip
or even just something
just a little bit better
than what I have, even if its older, because
sometimes things
of old are
so much better
than the new,
like how I look at
These cameras I dream of
in stores, in
flea markets,
I hold their predecessors,
their grandfathers
and feel the cold calm
of the metal body
in my hands, and know that
things just aren’t built this way any
more, and people
aren’t what they used to be, or
so it seems,
from the history classes
and all the books
I read, about life
before it was my time
and how people seemed
to give a ****
and didn’t just sit
and whine
and waste so much time,
but how did they live
before Facebook
how could they
fall in love without
Tinder,
or read the news without
Twitter
or pass their classes without
google on their Androids in their laps to pass the answers on the test before them?
So I guess they were just tougher
than us, like these old cameras
I want, and they
didn’t want, like we
want to pretend we need
so we don’t have to accept
what’s right in front of us.
Our excuse that
We need to wait for film
To develop.
May 27, 2014
May 27, 2014 at 8:39 PM UTC
Set fire to the Antique Shop,
We’re one step ahead of the cops.
Mannequins of Elvis begin to melt.
Free from past matters; free from guilt.
Promoting the prosperity
As we hoard hostility
Androids ambushing Arkansas,
They seek to find ménage trois.
Achieving self-awareness
They want fill the void’s emptiness
Chugging R & R by the fifths.
By our thumbnails we dangle off cliffs.
Thread by thread, the veil unfolds.
Standing all alone, I’m left in the cold.
Show me how much you care.
Push me in my wheelchair.
Listening to what drives you crazy
Eventually helps you stop being lazy.
Lilly is spinning me dizzy
She belongs to the world of yesterday
The haze is now fading away.
If only I could stay
for just one day
But Behold
I feel you should be told
I have come from the end
When the Earth is condemned.
As I tell the tall tale,
How we came to live in hell,
once we found the holy grail.
“We overcame our fear
The classified was made clear.
We launched all the nukes,
By order of the Skywalker named Luke.
The framers were lousy architects;
They left the balance completely hectic.
The CEO’s got away with fraud.
Thinking their work was the will of God.”
I met you in the gloomiest bar.
We speed across the town in my car.
Questioning why we remained silent.
The flickering florescent light compliment
The tone of shallow yellow paint,
I can finally hibernate.
After I left the oblivious,
Do I finally notice,
It’s hesitation that leads
me astray from redemption.
TJW 2013
Oct 22, 2013
Oct 22, 2013 at 6:14 AM UTC
This is to all those misfits
To the Romeo car-washing in Inglewood inlets
To the Hippy selling crystals on the Venice boardwalk
The Magician swallowing 8-balls at the Huntington Beach peer
The Rapper selling CDs in the Ranch Market parking lot
The **** tatting in a makeshift garage
The Poet slinging chapbooks at cafes and rec centers…
Not androids pontificating from lecterns
But grimy roots burrowing deep
Seismic rumblings toppling down
Insured ivory towers
Smashing pilled-paradigms beneath Docs
Hustling and slinging
In the forbidden outshacks of civilization
In tents, over barbed-wire, beside shards
Desperate and burning
For neither Truth or Beauty
But for LIFE
They do not tap wrists
No, they thump chests
To feel it beat
To feel it rage
For fugitive fugues
For new eternities
They embrace
********** romance
Graveyard necromance
The holy hunger for change
Defying commercials and charts
Shivering and howling on streets
Waging guerrilla war
Liberating cubicled-hearts
Dec 23, 2016
Dec 23, 2016 at 8:20 PM UTC
Lonely man, living like
a drifting ******* crumb
floating
in
a
bowl
of
soup.
The table is filled with
ice cream hearts
melting
slowly
into
oblivion.
It will come, this death.
It will proclaim
its victory
as if it was
a triumphant
gladiator in the
arena
of
goodbye.
And still they say that every day
is the best medicine to swallow.
Xenophobic androids
bleating
their
inconsistent
beliefs.
Change is real.
It defines
who we have been.
And one wonders why the
scratching bees are silent?
Have they lost their focus?
That must be it.
The focus.
The never staying
hum-drum of
placating
the
masses.
Grieving man, who
sits at the table
and
pounds
his
hands
into
the
fire.
Let the burning begin.
Put on the tombstone,
"Not here anymore."
Apr 16, 2016
Apr 16, 2016 at 4:15 PM UTC
2 AM:
i'm falling in, and out, and in, and out,
of sleep.
my mind reaches:
arching forwards,
slowly uncurls a single finger
pinkish joints blossom
one-by-one
the slightest graze of fingernail
and what i think is real bursts into a million,
iridescent
spinning globules sent
skittering down a marble hall,
who knows how long?
but sometimes there are no marbles--
there are only shooting stars
masses of hazy, gaseous yellow
pixels, flickering and glitchering
in the corners of my eyes, hover
at my brow, drop at my feet ah...
a sadness devoid of
emotion.
like androids,
dreaming.
Sep 25, 2018
Sep 25, 2018 at 11:14 PM UTC
I have a problem...
A very serious problem.
I cannot talk to machines.
I try to reason with them,
But always go into a surrealistic episode
Ending with a tirade of foul insults.
A syrupy voice says with a British touch
"When you hear your choice please
Please say yes or press one,
Followed by the hashtag....”
I scream such ****** things!
But I cannot get the her angry.
Has she taken a Socratic oath?
Did she take some cyber LSD?
I say, “Hey babe, ever have an ******
Y’know what she says to me,
That I’m being sexist.
“So you think, I mean really think
Of yourself as a woman? “
“I’m Cyber Gender,
No need to be mean.
Why do you hate me?
I don’t hate you.”
(Imagine some millennial programmer
Was hired for infuriating pleasantness!
They heard of people like me, the old ones,
Pampering us like we emerged from a jungle
And would get lost in a supermarket).
The elevator asks me what floor,
And reminds me to have a nice day.
(O, how I miss that operator man
Going up and down all his life,
With bad breath and body odors,
Dandruff powdering his uniform,
Saying something poetic about the baseball game...
Seeing us daily at our best and worst
He might say “have a good one,”
But only if he meant it.)
The self-pay check-out reminds me
“Please take your cell phone.”
Everyone near
Holds it like the battery
To their hearts.
I see the latest blockbusters of
Man versus the Androids.
Man always used to win.
Lately the screen writers prefer the robots.
(O, forgive me! AI. My bad.
“Robots” are not PC! Lol, lol, lol...)
How shall I proceed-
They’ll lock me up if I’m not careful.
I’ve noticed the folks in power
Who have conversations with God
Have no problem with Siri.
These malicious machines don’t get drunk.
They can never understand
There’s great empathy in human relationship
Even if the other person, like yourself,
Is not really listening.
Jul 16, 2018
Jul 16, 2018 at 11:01 AM UTC
They crawl along the streets like zombies:
Heads cowed over Androids and iPhones.
Busily pressing buttons,
Risking life and limb
As they cross the road.
It reminds me of “Star Trek Next Generation”
When young Wesley and the rest
Were hypnotised
By some alien “game”.
Sometimes they sit in huddles,
Messaging one another
Or playing, yes,
An addictive game.
All lost in a dream world
On Facebook or Twitter-Chat Whatever.
Soon we will no longer “fall out” with anyone:
We will “Unfriend” or “Unfollow” them.
I still prefer my laptop.
But how long before I too
Succumb to this addiction?
How long before my “Facebook Morning Splurge”
Becomes a day-long trawl?
Before I know it I will be like the others:
Lost in panic –
Frantic
Because I forgot to bring
My mobile.
Paul Butters
© PB 25\12\2017.
Dec 28, 2017
Dec 28, 2017 at 6:06 AM UTC
items
title - author - (read / unread)
songs of war
and peace -
afghan women's poetry
edited by sayd bahodine majrouh
(yes)
the cantos of
ezra pound
ezra pound
(pending)
the unbearable
lightness of being
milan kundera
(yes, albeit
given to someone)
the man in the
high castle
philip k. ****
(yes, "
" " ")
do androids dream
of electric sheep
"
men without women
ernest hemingway
(yes)
a moveable feast
ernest "
(yes)
for whom the bell tolls
ernest "
(partially, university
assignment)
a passage to india
e. m. forster
(no, i prefer the actual cuisine,
dash of cinnamon, cumin
cloves, cardamon and i just
read: a short-cut to india)
the outsider
albert camus
(yes, lost the book somewhere)
frankenstein
mary shelley
(yes)
aesop's fables
aesop
(yes, good enough
for zeno to
paradox achilles
with the turtle, i.e.
aesop's fables
were primarily based
on the behaviour of animals)
dr. jeckyl & mr. hyde
r. l. stevenson
(no, a literary
version of the beatles'
yesterday, conjuring
for money anyway)
iron in the soul
jean-paul sartre
(the other two titles
of the human comedy
i don't remember;
i have all respect for
sartre the novelist -
but none as a philosopher)
treasure island
r. l. stevenson
(yes)
i'm the king of the castle
susan hill
(yes)
jane eyre
charlotte brontë
(yes)
on the road
jack kerouac
(yes)
the bell jar
sylvia plath
(yes)
fiesta: the sun also rises
ernest hemingway
(yes)
the ordeal of gilbert pinfold
evelyn waugh
(yes)
five plays
chekov
(stuck to shakespeare
and russian
existential macabre)
the existential imagination
edited by frederick
r. karl & leo hamalian
(yes, esp. the extract
about socrates)
Dec 30, 2015
Dec 30, 2015 at 3:39 PM UTC
Destiny for humanoids---
Shall we run by androids?
Or shall we be the androids?
Let's prognosticate,
Predict our fates----
Shall mankind claim the Universe?
Or is Anarchy to be the serve?
Teeming billions in a rat race,
What is destiny for our Earth place?
In our lifetime, we'll never know,
Unless Armageddon explodes,
Let's hope the young are star hopping,
Instead of retail therapy shopping,
Too young for the stars,
Too old for the seas afar,
Nothing left to explore,
Disaffection, please no more,
Shall we be the androids?
Destiny for the humanoids?????????
Mar 14, 2016
Mar 14, 2016 at 10:27 PM UTC
Why do we hide
Behind screens and devices
Confronting our problems
Like drones upon Isis
Dumping our waste
In a news-feeding sea
Then digging up dirt
On our best frenemy
Swipe right for love
If you tryna' hit
As you kindle the flame
And then hashtag it lit
Processing feelings
Like androids alone
Despite the reception
From every iPhone
So disconnected
Though closer than ever
To google chrome answers
All searching together
On profile pictures
You can judge a book
When the moral of this one
Is how do I look
Unfiltered facades
Of half-life expression
Selfie-absorbed
Anti-social obsession
Objective dimension
Of pretense inanimates'
Unblocked accounts
Of inactive inhabitants
Dwelling in shallows
Of in-depth distractions
Profiting off of
The Twitter war factions
Stop buying shares
Of the media Marxist
Still selling your souls
To emoticon artists
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 1:13 AM UTC
We've all got memes
Deep down in our genes
Passed down and passed out
Bursting our seams
There are memes in the air
Thoughts and feelings we share
Ideas spinning round
In the clouds everywhere
When was the first meme?
When two primates dared to dream
The same dream, the same things
Long before we had screens
I haz a bucket
A cheeseburger
A chair
I laughed and I clicked
I edited and shared
We're all forging memes
Fresh, new ones everyday
Memesmith is the role
That every poet must play
Memes are part of our soul
They're in our DNA
May 20, 2021
May 20, 2021 at 7:58 PM UTC
/ Blade Running \
Making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,
Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,
Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,
Even Philip K ****
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is,
Half man half nocturnal machine,
Half real life half diurnal dream,
Were we born or were we made maybe it’s the same thing,
Maybe there isn’t a difference or so it would seem,
“You don’t believe,
In miracles because you’ve never seen a miracle.”,
That’s why you’re willing to **** for a fee,
& why you’re always so sterile & cynical,
& maybe that’s why I write,
More than I do anything else,
As a way of trying to jog your memory,
While running up the bill,
At the bar trying to wash away,
Things that still affect me even though they can’t be totally recalled,
In this present day sci-fi anti-climactic dystopia like Arnold,
Call me Jack of All Trades & I’ll call you Jill of It All,
Getting drowsy,
Must be the pills,
On a plane,
On my way to somewhere else,
Travel so much,
Sometimes I wake up & don’t know what country I’m in,
It’s a dog eat dog world so cat naps can be dangerous,
Especially when you drink while sleep walking on Ambien,
A creature with amnesia & beautiful features,
How’d you become such a miracle,
Are you really that perfect,
Or is that just the way I remember you,
Guess it doesn’t matter either way,
Because maybe I don’t even remember you,
Maybe you’re not mine because maybe you never were,
Maybe nothing is mine not even the memories I have of you,
Maybe it’s all just programing,
Maybe we’re all just programs,
Programed to play our part,
In The Grand Program,
Programmed by the wizard behind the curtain,
Or by the woman behind the glass wall,
Maybe in the end we have the same thing we had in the beginning,
Which is absolutely nothing at all,
Maybe that’s why I’m making memories,
Wondering who sent for me,
If it wasn’t you then who was it,
& if you didn’t send for me then why are you here next to me,
Self preservation is the first law of nature,
From animal to human from human to machine,
Antisocial butterflies restlessly cramped in our cocoons,
Part plant part mineral part alien fully human being,
Sure we converse with other persons,
But we converse more with ChatGPT,
Hey AI I have a question,
Do ‘Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?’,
Even Philip K ****
Doesn’t know what the answer is to this mystery is…
∆ LaLux ∆
From ABC: The Beginning Of The End
Available worldwide on all platforms and in all mediums, Audiobook, Paperback, Digital, and Hardcover
Feb 4, 2024
Feb 4, 2024 at 1:57 AM UTC
The Jupiter is on the launchpad.
The count down is proceeding smooth.
On board there's a crew of robots;
for Man there is no room.
Yes, those androids look like us;
and, once, there was a time
when human Scientists themselves
designed some android minds.
Now AI has progressed so far
that circumstance demands
that the designers of this crew for space
must have titanium hands.
This crew will never tire.
they need no food to eat.
Radiation that would **** a man
they'll easily defeat.
The distances in space are vast
at even half the speed of light.
This robot crew will long endure
after my last good night.
There are headed for Tau Ceti.
Exoplanets there abound.
They'll transmit their data findings
to those here on the ground.
I worry for Posterity;
Fear clouds my troubled mind.
Once our species were explorers
now we're forever left behind.
Dec 30, 2018
Dec 30, 2018 at 11:13 AM UTC
Meticulous and loveless, she does her duty
with flawless execution in a calculated fashion.
Every task she has accomplished
is done with a robotic passion
The wires of her brain
are smoldered in place.
Insulated with old errors
she computes a quiet disgrace.
Malicious programs in a trojan horse
sent from a suspicious source with a familiar name.
She brought down her firewall to let him in
which is why she feels such shame.
I watch her as she marches;
no style, no finesse, no grace.
I want to give her a soft touch or an honest whisper.
But I'm prevented by the anti-virus in within my interface.
Jan 14, 2013
Jan 14, 2013 at 5:59 PM UTC
i want to scream till i puke and cry myself empty
because my mind is a dark place and the thoughts
that haunt me are half formed and sadistic
they wrap my mind so tight in these chains
that i feel like the breath is crushed right out of me
and my ribcage is cracking my shoulders are breaking
and my eyes have been replaced with
cold black stone.. i thought i was made of flesh and blood
but apparently i'm just carved out of metal and bone
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 3:45 AM UTC
The day I first saw you,
will be forever singed,
in the deepest crevasse,
of my mind.
An image of you,
sat across from me,
in the quaint coffee shop.
bolted to my brain.
All other faces were blank,
androids faking emotions,
yet you radiated joy and life
and drugged me with that intoxicating smile.
Icon of attraction,
an icon Ive fallen for.
every time i see you - feeling,
more and more disenfranchised.
Why am i so fascinated with you?
intrigued by every quirk,
you pulsate so much beauty,
even when deep in slumber.
Closer to you. I want to be closer,
to smell your odour - feel your body,
but not while you sleep,
very soon - we’ll be together as one.
Fantasies flood my mind,
invade my brain,
of crawling into you,
becoming your second skin.
I hunger for you - a hunger I must satiate.
Mar 12, 2019
Mar 12, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
(with apologies to Gil Scott-Heron)
You will have to stay home, sister.
You will charge up, tune in, drop out of all activities.
You will scroll through memes, trawl the news,
Skip the tea, you're running low.
The epidemic will be endlessly televised.
The epidemic will be brought to you in a trillion parts,
With declining commercial interruption.
The epidemic will show you pictures of Trump and Boris blithering,
Dreaming of fried chicken at the end of televisation,
"Oka-a-ay...".
"You are a terrible reporter!"
NHS-badged Hancock will look the part,
But cannot answer the question
Should I look after my sick self-isolated seventyish neighbour?
Fauci facepalms
And is gone.
Watch out, guys.
The epidemic will be televised.
The Epidemic (starring Tom Hanks) will not be brought to you on the big screen.
There will be no big screen.
The Epidemic will not play Glasto
Lit by 300,000 Androids.
The epidemic will be brought to you by friends and strangers.
The epidemic will be televised.
The epidemic will not inject fat into your posterior.
You will not need to shave or deodorise.
As it turns out, you are not worth that expensive holiday.
The epidemic will make you a bedroom star
Vlogging your incarceration to ten followers.
The epidemic will be televised.
There will be pictures of coughing queues at supermarkets
Toilet roll riots, thermometer wars.
There will be pictures of you and your best mate
Pushing that cart down the block,
Packed with Branston Pickle baked beans
Though you posted fifty times online about hoarding.
You will not have dressed for the occasion.
You will not care who wins Love Island.
You will not care who wins The Great British Bake Off.
Eastenders will be cancelled
After 35 years of continuous drama.
You will dodge the police for a quiet walk
On a brighter day.
The epidemic will be televised.
Reporters will cough.
Ministers will be replaced
Suddenly
Parliament will be suspended.
Politics will cease to be televised.
The epidemic will be right back, after a message.
You will have to worry about a germ in your bathroom,
Your food supply, the tiger in your tank, your loved ones,
Whether, if you cease to breathe, there will be a ventilator.
You will consider getting in the driver's seat.
Where to go?
Would you like to see your mother?
Would you like to cross a border?
The Caravan Park is occupied
By the Military.
Slowly, slowly
The screens will darken.
The epidemic will no longer be televised.
The Epidemic is not a game. You cannot return to a previous Save.
The epidemic is live.
Mar 24, 2020
Mar 24, 2020 at 3:38 PM UTC
Find me,
Find me,
In the television screen,
Find me,
Find me,
In an androids dream,
Counting sheep as the hours tick by,
Counting sheep and wanting to die,
Cause i can't,
Sleep anymore,
I can't sleep anymore.
Apr 25, 2019
Apr 25, 2019 at 7:18 AM UTC
I live in a virtual hell
Because I like it
I love my slavery
A virtual hell
I am no longer a human
Rather a robot or an android
I have a great need of finger clicks
The finger clicks brings serotonin
Which stimulates my brain program
When you click a finger like
On my facehell publication
I feel better i fell good
otherwise i will be depressed
I am already lost In this
Infernal virtual slavery
Do androids dream of freedom?
This union made of machine and animal
Works with virtual clicks likes
A click serotonin stimulating finger
When will androids dream
Of a real virtual revolution
Or they never do cause
Machines never dream
Humanity hope this dream get true
For a better life but it's just a wish
The real future life will be
A world of the Green Sun!
Jun 8, 2020
Jun 8, 2020 at 10:31 PM UTC
This truly is day of days or at least some oncoming phase wherein lies are sound
and disillusioned soldiers sing sad soul songs about forgetting and how to belong when you can hear the man listening at the other end like paranoid little androids peck pecking at our crossed wires
Can't trust anyone anymore each tryst a fatal trip to that ghetto part of Montreal
Crotch told me about matter of fact
i was reading the rcmp's most wanted list
and ******* if there wasn't some dude named grizzley on there from Montreal with a wicked cool afro who is wanted for second degree ******
So you can go ahead and press in closer but my wheel spinning wheel caught in dirt brain will probably just send us both off the tracks off the wagon really though all still beautiful like old soul song or hopeless dying live you can't save tho you hope you feel you've tried
Nov 25, 2014
Nov 25, 2014 at 10:01 PM UTC
If I was Johnny handsome Android you'd soon avoid this thing that replicates the hates and feeds upon the oily fears of those not quite his metal peers
and shearing through the drift and dross on wheels 'cause legs are no dead loss
to look upon the nuts and bolts excretia of the fools and dolts who engineered with sneers on faces Androids bound in metal cases and then in utter exhaltation crowned the kings of every nation.
A super sheen metallic gleam shines out from eyes that see in ratios and Pi's and rises high above the humdrum lives where hand in glove they slave away to build Androids at ten a day for little pay and even less to say.
This is the void where we will end as we rush to tinker and to tend to the revolution of Android evolution.
Jul 14, 2016
Jul 14, 2016 at 2:30 AM UTC
Like another way of speaking
but no not at all
for if you find something exciting
was it part of my brain
for I do not know where it has gone
lost it on distant shore
it fell out of my trunks
no do'nt **** it
just pop it back in my head
you guy's so do not need Androids
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
i am not a poet.
i do not take thoughts,
spin them on the page,
and give them breath
the way a little man
spins gold from straw.
i am not a dreamer.
i do not ponder the stars,
wonder if they cry
or smile or laugh
or if the sheep dreams
of androids and muzzles.
i am not romantic,
with ideals of flowers—
carnations, forget-me-nots,
daisies—or letters of blood
with the alphabet
blazing a hole in the heart.
i am a person;
just that.
just that.
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 5:16 AM UTC
The war took many things
Many things from many people
Possessions, money, life and love
In descending order.
I was unaffected
For I had nothing to begin with.
No family, no friends, no money, nothing.
And I wouldn't have minded if I was a casualty.
I suppose my nothingness
Could have been taken from me.
If I had lost my life, I might have had something.
But even today, no one knows what happens after your body gives out.
My squadron would be sent on menial missions.
To destroy the last remaining churches, temples, synagogues, mosques.
Only to ***** out the centers for those who still clung to hope.
They were "menial" because there weren't many of those people left.
With the Earth scorched and hope all but a wistful memory
I wondered why, for the first time, I hadn't taken my own life.
It seems unbelievable to live hopeless for so long and never consider it.
But now I fantasized about setting myself on fire, instead of that church.
Days came and days went and nights were spent dreaming of flames.
My throat would hurt from screaming so loud and I liked that.
I would wake up in a blissful daze, the dream replaying in my head.
Then I'd fall asleep again and wake up dreading the tasks before me.
One day, not long after my flame fantasies had begun
The Captain sent our Android unit ahead of us as usual.
Their main use was to scout the area and **** whoever was in our way.
But that day, that day was one I'd never forget.
The Androids hustled ahead and explosions were heard soon after.
The Captain radioed to them but received no answer.
Worry grew wildly on his face as he looked to us.
"ULB-5256... See what the trouble is. This is your prime directive."
I had a feeling I would the one chosen.
The Captain knew I no longer valued my life.
I had never spoken out loud about it.
But the Captain had a way of just knowing things.
I jumped up, eager and excited as ever.
If I ran ahead and got blown to bits, that would be okay.
If I ran ahead and shot everyone else to bits, that would be fine too.
But I had to see what went down because this was my Prime Directive.
Apr 18, 2016
Apr 18, 2016 at 5:51 PM UTC