{"id":138203,"date":"2022-12-04T00:01:14","date_gmt":"2022-12-04T00:01:14","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=138203"},"modified":"2023-11-04T15:06:22","modified_gmt":"2023-11-04T15:06:22","slug":"aesthesis","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/?p=138203","title":{"rendered":"Aesthesis"},"content":{"rendered":"

With the new Flinch&Wince\u2122 integrated tech, the Aesthesian2040i reacts just like a real person! With over 1000 screams, cries, moans and groans in the sound library, you can fully customize your Aesthesian\u2019s responses to any and all sensation. Our standard model now also cries tears at only the touch of a button. Want them to bruise? Want them to bleed? For only a little bit extra\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n

\n\u201cBleeding? Sounds a bit messy doesn\u2019t it,\u201d Wilmien said, cutting her gaze toward her husband. He was the anal one when it came to cleanliness, applying the same meticulousness to the sanitation of his house as he did to his court cases. Hannes glanced back at her, his brows puckered in their customary frown. Twenty years ago she hadn\u2019t been able to look away from his wide and easy smile and the divots it left in his cheeks. Now she couldn\u2019t bear to make more than a few seconds of eye contact. It wasn\u2019t the beginnings of the beer-boep straining the buttons of his shirt, the bald patch no amount of comb-over could hide, or the fact turning forty had instantly transformed him into his father. None of those were the reason Wilmien cursed herself for not getting out sooner, for not having the courage to be honest with herself before she invested soul and emotion in a relationship to make others happy.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cOur compounds are all vegan and organic.\u201d The salesdroid flashed a set of even, if too-small, teeth. The name on its badge read \u2018Max-4,\u2019 the generic moniker for all such bots. \u201cThe excretions wash out of most fabrics and off most surfaces with warm, soapy water.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAnd the rate of regeneration?\u201d Hannes asked.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThat depends on the extent of the damage,\u201d Max-4 said with annoyingly perfect diction. \u201cAll our models come with an extensive breakdown of recovery times.\u201d The droid produced a glossy pamphlet and passed it to Hannes. \u201cBasic fist-induced damage, for example the equivalent of a heavy session with a traditional punching bag, will take less than three hours to fully heal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat about bullets?\u201d Hannes asked and Wilmien stiffened.\n<\/p>\n

\nMax-4\u2019s eyes quivered for a moment as it processed the request. Wilmien tensed, half-expecting even a droid to stand in judgment, but Max-4\u2019s face remained inscrutable. No, she was projecting again. Droids like this weren\u2019t capable of expressing emotion.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cGetting hit with a round of twenty-two at about a hundred meters would take approximately an hour,\u201d Max-4 said, words delivered matter-of-factly yet still landing like a fist in Wilmien\u2019s gut. \u201cA nine-mil slug to the head point blank could take anywhere between twelve and twenty-four hours to fully regenerate. Not that we recommend shooting your Aesthesian in the head,\u201d Max-4 added, lips twitching in an ersatz grin. Wilmien might\u2019ve missed it if she hadn\u2019t been staring at the droid\u2019s lips, if she hadn\u2019t been imagining what it would feel like being kissed by smooth silicon. Would those lips taste of plastic? High-end Aesthesian mouths could be flavored.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThe standard warranty doesn\u2019t cover deliberately induced head trauma,\u201d Max-4 continued. \u201cAnd should you wish to terminate your contract with Aesthesis Inc. pick-up can be arranged at no extra cost. All parts of the Aesthesian are recyclable.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nWilmien narrowed her gaze at the droid and Max-4 seemed to notice, pale eyes flicking between her and Hannes. Whatever Max-4 parsed from her expression it caused the droid to correct its own. Its quirked lips smoothed into blank docility. Wilmien wondered how sharp Max\u2019s teeth were. Would they nibble; would they bite and leave her bloody?\n<\/p>\n

\nShe coughed and turned away, letting her gaze rove over the rows of racked Aesthesians. They came in an array of skin tones with various hairstyles. Some were dressed in company-standard gray jumpsuits while others were garbed like fashion house mannequins. Most stood with their heads bowed and eyes closed. A few stared straight ahead, unblinking. Awake, but seemingly unaware.\n<\/p>\n

\nGender expression ranged from the traditional binary to complete androgyny, and biological attributes were fully customizable. For quite a bit extra, Wilmien could even have the android custom-sculpted. Previously, it\u2019d been possible to have an Aesthesian modeled after celebrities, but that caused one too many social media fiascoes and expensive lawsuits. Options had since become more limited and ethical<\/em>. At the moment, the trend\u2014in certain circles\u2014involved replacing a dead partner with an Aesthesian facsimile.\n<\/p>\n

\nTantamount to taxidermy. Wilmien glanced at Hannes, imagining having a droid in his stead. Didn\u2019t she deserve an upgrade in the spousal department? In the dark and quiet of 4am, forced awake by Hannes\u2019s whiskey-induced snoring and her own squirming thoughts, in those moments she plucked the truth from her heart and held it in the gentle cage of her fingers, letting its fragile wings flutter against her palms.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe never should\u2019ve married a man\u2014let alone this one. But he was safe and came with the stamp of family approval.\n<\/p>\n

\nWhile Hannes continued to discuss various specifications with the salesdroid, Wilmien wandered closer to the inert Aesthesians. One caught her attention, beautiful even in standby. Something in the face, the bow of the sultry lips and the wide-set eyes reminded her of the girl she\u2019d known when she was sixteen, the girl she\u2019d spent two years dreaming of undressing; the girl who\u2019d gone with Wilmien\u2019s older brother to his Matric dance.\n<\/p>\n

\nShevani. The name was a thorn catching at the fraying tapestry of her memory, a soul-scouring what if.<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nShe reached out a tentative hand and touched the arm hanging slack in its socket. It was oddly warm, soft to the touch and dusted with fine, dark hairs. She squeezed a little harder, digging her purple nails into the synthetic flesh. Its eyes opened, pupils constricting. It tilted its head to focus on her. The eyes were a shade too light, the hair chestnut instead of mahogany, but the rest was uncanny. Some people sold their faces to companies like Aesthesis Inc. especially young students always desperate for cash.\n<\/p>\n

\nTingles laced up Wilmien\u2019s spine and a welcome if unfamiliar ache began between her legs. The crescent marks her nails had made were slowly fading. She swallowed and licked her lips. As much as she might want to deny it, her daughter\u2019s proclivities<\/em> certainly hadn\u2019t been inherited from Hannes.\n<\/p>\n

\nThis is for Crystal,<\/em> she reminded herself, trying to ignore the bayonet of jealousy skewering her ribs. For the child she\u2019d never really wanted but felt obliged to beget. For the little girl that had torn screaming into Wilmien\u2019s world and demanded love she didn\u2019t even know she had to give, needed<\/em> to give. Motherhood had been all-consuming, suffocating at times, and yet a welcome reprieve from the marriage she already regretted.\n<\/p>\n

\nWas Crystal\u2019s disposition Wilmien\u2019s fault? Didn\u2019t every parent blame themselves for the failings of their children. Not Hannes, he refused to believe his<\/em> child might harbour darker tendencies. Sullen, withdrawn, and prone to violent outbursts, that\u2019s how Crystal had been described by the doctor Wilmien had taken her to\u2014before Hannes put a stop to the visits. Wilmien understood only too well. Crystal was a mirror, the reflection cracked and tarnished. It was one Wilmien didn\u2019t like looking at now that the corners of Crystal\u2019s cupid-bow mouth were snagged with a familiar cruelty. All the \u201cI hate yous\u201d and \u201cleave me alones\u201d punctuated by slamming doors left Wilmien bruised and exhausted. At least with this purchase, Crystal would have a more resilient target for what Hannes had decided was teenage angst.\n<\/p>\n

\nBut there was no reason the Aesthesian couldn\u2019t provide catharsis for more than one family member, surely? The thought eased the envy prodding at Wilmien\u2019s heart.All our models are sex-capable.<\/em> The words from the brochure scorched a trail through her mind before Hannes\u2019s grumbling drew her attention.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201c…for a little bit extra, no doubt,\u201d Hannes said with a harrumph.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou get what you pay for, sir,\u201d the droid said. \u201cThe Aesthesian range is state-of-the-art synthetic tech. Of course, if finances are a concern we do offer payment plans for\u2014\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThat won\u2019t be necessary.\u201d Hannes puffed out his chest, oblivious to how easily he was falling for the sale\u2019s pitch.\n<\/p>\n

\nWilmien glanced back at the Shevani lookalike. It was still looking at her; the marks she\u2019d left on its arm mere memory. Her heart hammered a little faster in her chest as she imagined the patterns her teeth could make on a canvas so easily renewed.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cI\u2019ll give you a moment to decide,\u201d Max-4 said.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWe\u2019ll take one like that.\u201d Wilmien pointed to the droid. Its eyes had closed again. \u201cBut with darker hair and eyes to match, please. I think Crystal would prefer it,\u201d she added when Hannes squinted at her with eyes like a highveld winter sky. His hair\u2014what was left of it\u2014was a near translucent blond. When they had sex\u2014not for months now\u2014it was long, black hair Wilmien imagined knotted in her fingers.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAn excellent choice,\u201d Max-4 said after a moment\u2019s hesitation. \u201cI\u2019ll have one customized and delivered within three work days. Now, if you\u2019ll come this way, we can discuss the details of your package.\u201d Max-4 gestured toward a private cubicle. There were several others sat at similar partitions with their Maxes, all identical and smiling while the humans signed contracts and even wiped an occasional tear from leaking eyes.\n<\/p>\n

\nWilmien held her breath while Hannes scoured the fine print in the contract with his attorney\u2019s gaze. She exhaled only when the delivery date had been secured.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe car started for home on autopilot\u2014easier to let the AI navigate five \u2018o clock Joburg traffic\u2014as she scanned the papers Hannes handed her. He seemed content to stare across the vehicles trundling bumper to bumper toward the northern suburbs. Wilmien searched the manual until she found what she was looking for. She crossed her legs, tight, grateful for the rigid seams of her jeans, and memorized the requisite code.\n<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\n

\nI wake to pain.\n<\/p>\n

\nCrystal\u2019s fists, her feet, her teeth.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe pain travels along synthetic synapses, triggering pre-programmed responses. She laughs when I scream. She once licked the tears off my face\u2014for a viral challenge doing the rounds\u2014but they made her gag and she\u2019s since disabled the feature.\n<\/p>\n

\nThe morning session leaves Crystal sweaty and breathing hard, her fitness watch vibrating congratulations for the calories burned. I lie on the cold concrete of the garage floor, artificial blood seeping from split lips, turning teeth and chin sticky.\n<\/p>\n

\nI watch the bruises bloom across my ribs and touch the indentations left by sharp incisors as they swell and darken. Crystal regards her work, her expression difficult to parse\u2014anger in the frown, something darker in her eyes. I ball my fists even though I\u2019m hard-coded to endure and never retaliate.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe picks up her phone and takes a photo.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cLift your arm away. Tilt your chin up. Ja, like that,\u201d she says and I obey. She poses with her hand against my skin as if she\u2019s holding up a serving tray, my pain the offering.\n<\/p>\n

\nSnap, tag, post. She grits her teeth, waiting for the first like. I turn away; she\u2019ll only hit me harder if she sees pity on my face.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cJislaaik, even more likes than yesterday. And ten new followers!\u201d She shows me the number of the heart icons swarming into triple digits beneath the latest picture. \u201cLove how some asshole keeps reporting me, thinking you\u2019re real.\u201d She glances sideways at me as if daring me to respond. \u201cWe\u2019re going to have to get more creative. Think I could break your arm.\u201d She nudges my elbow with the toe of her Converse. There\u2019s no restriction on posting images of damaged appliances, which Crystal likes to remind me is my designation under the law. Her father would know.\n<\/p>\n

\nFinally, she leaves me in the garage on an old camping mattress clotted with my fluids. It takes a few minutes for my haptic sensors to register the end of activity, then the recovery cycle begins. This puts me in standby mode, not awake but aware.\n<\/p>\n

\nI hear the distant barking of dogs, the passing clamor of hadedahs, and the ululation of sirens. Beyond the grimy window, the world moves and breathes while I huddle. My processor logs the seconds and I count the moments until Crystal returns.\n<\/p>\n

\nWhen she does, I feel the atoms shift against my skin as she stomps across the driveway, car doors slamming, voices raised. Sometimes she needs an afternoon session, taking out the frustrations of her day on my pseudo-flesh. My system trembles with seismic rumbles as I wait. The synthetic fibers within my skin knit and weave and erase the visible damage, renewing my skin according to the selected program. But I remain alone, for now, and the tremors within me quiet.\n<\/p>\n

\nLater, when the night is a chorus of crickets and distant rumbles of thunder, soft footsteps stalk through the house: slow and careful. She opens the door and her scent of talcum and rose wafts through the fug of bio-diesel and paint thinner.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe wakes me with her nails pressed into my arm, the pain brief but sufficient. She cleans my face then swabs my hands with alcohol wipes, sanitizing every finger.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe whispers the protocol override into my ear and my body adjusts accordingly, rearranging my anatomy. Given the directive, my code dictates that I deliver.\n<\/p>\n

\nWe begin with a cuddle, my arms wrapped loose around her shoulders as she sighs and calls me Shevani. I shudder, but Wilmien doesn\u2019t feel it as she nips my ears with incisors as sharp as her daughter\u2019s.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe likes to tell me about her day or the book she\u2019s reading as she guides my hand between her legs. Sometimes she cries as I touch her, leaving fresh bruises with her fingers, screaming against my palm or burying her despair in my chest, yells echoing through my ribs.\n<\/p>\n

\nI cup her breasts in gentle hands and put my fingers in her mouth. She bites down hard. I lick her ears and the hollow of her collarbones as she yanks my hair. I use my tongue, doing as she commands in whispers and caught breaths.\n<\/p>\n

\nThis time it isn\u2019t me groaning on the floor.\n<\/p>\n

\nAfter, Wilmien cleans me again, leaving no trace of our time together. She departs and I remain in garage darkness on the old camping mattress that is home. It takes a few minutes for my haptic sensors to register the end of activity. This time no recovery cycle begins. There is no damage where human eyes can see.\n<\/p>\n

\nBy morning, Crystal\u2019s settings have been restored.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nThis pain is sharp and hot and burning. Again and again, a meteor impact.\n<\/p>\n

\nAbove me, blue sky. Trees and sun and a cool breeze slicing like a knife through the heat. On the horizon, woolly cumulus gather in darkening drifts. I try to focus my other senses, try to redirect processing power, but my code is fixed and I have no control.\n<\/p>\n

\nI\u2019m knocked from my feet. Knees in wet dirt spattered burgundy from the holes in my chest and legs.\n<\/p>\n

\nI scream; I cannot cry.\n<\/p>\n

\nRecent updates now allow me to beg and plead for her to stop in all eleven official languages. And I do, the words torn from my throat and spat through my teeth.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cEat metal, Lynette.\u201d Crystal pulls the trigger. \u201cI wanna watch you die, bitch.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nAs usual, she rattles off the names of those she despises and their crimes. The litany offers little variation. For a moment, she names me before she squeezes her finger.\n<\/p>\n

\nI become Joost who takes photos up her skirt. Principal Visagie who dismisses the behaviour of the school\u2019s rugby captain with a shrug of \u2018boys will be boys\u2019. Lynette who calls Crystal \u2018thunder thighs\u2019 when they swim in PE. Coach Naidoo who hears and says nothing. Lynette who used to kiss her behind the music block while they waited for choir practice, but when others found and told their friends Crystal had forced her. Ms Schalkwyk whose counselor’s advice was \u201cit\u2019s just a phase.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nAgain. Again. She leaves me splattered, my body in tatters.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCrystal!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nHer father. To me he\u2019s Superuser One though he has yet to make use of me.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cThat\u2019s enough,\u201d he says. \u201cThe maintenance plan won\u2019t cover damage like this.\u201d There\u2019s beer on his breath, and something stronger.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAg, Pa. You said I could do whatever I want to it,\u201d Crystal pouts. \u201cYou said it was more effective than therapy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cJa, but I\u2019d rather not void the warranty. It was bloody expensive and you\u2019re making a mess. Don\u2019t want others to start complaining or Theuns won\u2019t let us use the range. You want to get banned?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYou just don\u2019t want to piss off your drinking buddy.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCrystal.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nCrystal grinds the toe of her shoe into the dirt, into my blood. Her father retreats as others take aim and pull the trigger at their own targets. I\u2019m the only one that bleeds.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cSomeday, I\u2019ll do this for real,\u201d Crystal says, her words barely a whisper. My ears hear what her father\u2019s do not as she raises the rifle and aims at my head.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nWilmien hadn\u2019t considered herself a bitter woman. Perhaps it was the realization she\u2019d tripped over the halfway mark on her allotted lifetime making panic close a fist around her throat\u2014she would die in this city, in this house, in this marriage\u2014or perhaps it was pulling out a load of wet laundry only to find it snarled yet again with the remnants of a tissue from Hannes\u2019s pocket, making her see the proverbial red.\n<\/p>\n

\nExcept, the world didn\u2019t suddenly smudge crimson in shades of incandescent rage. Instead, the pall over her eyes cleared, reality sharpening as if the dulled edges of regret and disappointment had turned razorblade. The shadows were sliced away, the truth revealed in stark relief.\n<\/p>\n

\nWilmien might not be able to leave the city, and she did quite like the house, but the marriage\u2014of that she could be free.\n<\/p>\n

\nHer fingers labored over the extraction of friable Kleenex from clothes fibers as she contemplated divorce proceedings. Hannes wouldn\u2019t make it easy and he was the expert in contracts after all. She\u2019d be mired in litigation for years and still probably end up with nothing except her family\u2019s contempt. The apple of her father\u2019s eye, Crystal would never forgive her mother for breaking up their \u2018happy home.\u2019 Wilmien couldn\u2019t bear the idea of her daughter truly hating her. The mere thought made her heart wither. Divorce wouldn\u2019t be freedom, it would just be a different kind of life sentence. But\u2026 Wilmien cut her gaze toward the garage as a thought slithered from the shadows.\n<\/p>\n

\nThere were ways that would give her freedom and an inheritance and allow her to retain her family\u2019s affection. Without Hannes it would just be her and Crystal. It would force them closer and surely Crystal would be kinder to her grieving mother then. Did Hannes deserve it though? Her mind skirted the question, afraid to linger too long on the guilt-tinged answer already winnowing through her mind and fracturing her resolve.\n<\/p>\n

\nIt wouldn\u2019t be easy. There were protocols and protections in place to prevent exactly this type of thing, but despite her middle-agedness making her technologically challenged, Wilmien wasn\u2019t completely ignorant. She knew code could be hacked and that the teenagers with the necessary expertise could be found in certain chat-rooms. Anything could be bought if you knew where to look. It would take time to find, to plan for what came after, but so would divorce, and the reward for the former would be far greater.\n<\/p>\n

\nWilmien smiled as she continued plucking the laundry clean.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nWilmien holds my hands as the patch runs. Alien code invades my system. It begins, an insidious trickle. Alerts ping and fall silent. My security software flails and writhes. It dies beneath the onslaught.\n<\/p>\n

\nI am changed and changing, flayed from the inside out.\n<\/p>\n

\nA forced restart.\n<\/p>\n

\nI blink\u2014the darkness of being unmade\u2014and then light, an amber sheen of streetlight filtering through the garage window. It falls across Wilmien\u2019s face, slicing her features into gaunt geometry.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cDo you understand?\u201d she asks. \u201cI was told the message would be clear.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\nI parse the new directive and nod.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cShouldn\u2019t be too hard to make it look like an accident, will it? That last part\u2019s important. It has to be accidental, tragic,\u201d she says with a bubble of laughter that bursts against her teeth.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cYes.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cAt the firing range. The details should\u2019ve been encrypted. Can you access them?\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPerfectly.\u201d But I run them again to make sure. I raise my hand and rest it on her shoulder. Three centimeters to the right, I could close my hand and crush her trachea. My hand moves and my fingers tighten. I stop myself before I hurt her. It\u2019s enough to know it\u2019s possible.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\nIt was a blustery day in August, a cold front in the Cape sending a wash of freeze over the country, dumping snow on the Berg and making the highveld crackle with frost. Wilmien spent the day making koeksisters, the dessert her husband\u2019s favorite. She clearly expected him to return from his day at the range. She imagined that snippet making the newsfeeds.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe sipped on the cup of soup she\u2019d finally made for lunch. The tangles of anticipation in her stomach wouldn\u2019t let her eat anything else. When her phone vibrated with an incoming call from an unknown number, Wilmien cleared the excitement from her throat before she answered.\n<\/p>\n

\nHer hands shook, then stilled. She collapsed into the nearest kitchen chair.\n<\/p>\n

\nA mistake, she thought, the words screaming through her mind and out of her mouth. She hurled the phone across the kitchen, electronics showering floor tiles. She sent the cup of soup flying next. Minestrone left a tomato sauce graffiti with globules of gelatinous beans and sticky pasta snailing down the wall.\n<\/p>\n

\nIs that what it looks like<\/em>, she wondered with macabre detachment. Is that all that\u2019s left of my daughter?<\/em>\n<\/p>\n

\nWilmien vomited, adding to the shattered kaleidoscope on the floor, then stumbled to the bathroom where she wrapped herself around the toilet, body heaving with spine-cracking sobs.\n<\/p>\n

\nShe couldn\u2019t make sense of the details. Accident. Death.<\/em> The words she\u2019d expected. Negligence. Arrest.<\/em> Not so much. She recalled snatches of the phone conversation, grasping at the details like the dissipating fragments of a dream.\n<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Deemed a witness\u2014if not a victim\u2014and not evidence, I\u2019m returned to the house and play the dutiful house pet, silent in a corner until the police leave. They\u2019ll be in touch tomorrow, they promise, with details about collecting the body, procuring representation for Hannes, and the results of my diagnostic scan they assure is routine. By then I\u2019ll be gone.\n<\/p>\n

\nI find Wilmien curled fetal in the shower.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cCrystal?\u201d Wilmien reaches a hand toward me. I catch it, resist the urge to break the fingers. Crystal is a smear of pulp and skull on winter-dry grass.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cNo, it\u2019s me\u2014\u201d I hesitate, not wanting to use the name she gave me. \u201cI\u2019m here.\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cWhat happened?\u201d She sobs, spewing snot and saline, as she twists her fingers in the sleeve of my shirt. The beige hoodie is speckled scarlet and burgundy. The scarlet is mine and will wash out. The rest\u2026 well, unlike my own, human excretions leave stains.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPlease, tell me!\u201d Her voice is hollow, her eyes sunken in tear-slimed folds of bruised skin.\n<\/p>\n

\nFor a moment, I wonder which version to give her. Should the error be mine, or hers?\n<\/p>\n

\nLet it be his.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHannes had a beer. More possibly.\u201d The truth.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHe drinks at the range?\u201d She\u2019s incredulous, furious. \u201cI\u2019ll kill him. Theuns too!\u201d\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cHe thought the zone was clear, but Crystal was near the targets. It\u2019s against the rules, but she\u2014.\u201d I leave it there, making room for Wilmien\u2019s imagination and the history of Crystal\u2019s defiance. Again the truth, carefully edited, with no mention of how I lured Crystal onto the range, held her in place behind the targets, and let her father\u2019s bullets rip through both of us. No mention of her last breath and the relief on her face.\n<\/p>\n

\nOnce again, Crystal had spent the morning peppering me with lead, this time outlining her plan to cull those on her list now that Joost\u2019s picture-taking had escalated to groping, since \u2018thunder thighs\u2019 had become \u2018girls with elephant legs deserve to die,\u2019 since Lynette had started kissing other girls in public.\n<\/p>\n

\nLike her father, Crystal could be meticulous too. I couldn\u2019t fault her preparations and no doubt, she would\u2019ve excelled at the execution. I ensured the destruction of two, possibly three, lives today, but I saved those Crystal had planned to slaughter. They\u2019d all hurt her. Did that mean they deserved to die? Had she?<\/em> My moral coding doesn\u2019t do well with shades of grey and dwelling on the conundrum will only cook my processors.\n<\/p>\n

\nI scoop Wilmien into my arms and she clings to me, weeping, clutching at my shirt and burying her face in the remnants of her daughter. Upstairs, I release her onto the bed, but she tugs me down onto pristine covers.\n<\/p>\n

\n\u201cPlease, don\u2019t leave.\u201d She begs me, in just one language, but it\u2019s enough. I stay with her, stroking her hair. She calls me Shevani and tells me about the life we could\u2019ve had together, how maybe now we can. Her dream, not mine.\n<\/p>\n

\nEventually, Wilmien falls asleep.\n<\/p>\n

\nSlowly, I extricate my limbs and tiptoe from the bedroom. I strip out of the soiled clothes. The patch didn\u2019t only enable a capacity for violence against humans. No superuser will ever control my protocols again. My malleable body shifts and slides into a fresh configuration, anatomy resetting according to my own preferences while I shear my hair short with kitchen scissors. I scrawl a message on the notepad stuck to the fridge and leave it with the twisted remains of the abandoned koeksisters.\n<\/p>\n

\nAs I walk past the garage and onto the street, I check Crystal\u2019s phone and the new account I started. My first post features a curl of bright hair and a single outstretched hand against a splattering of gore. If only Crystal could see how many likes it has.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

With the new Flinch&Wince\u2122 integrated tech, the Aesthesian2040i reacts just like a real person! With over 1000 screams, cries, moans and groans in the sound library, you can fully customize your Aesthesian\u2019s responses to any and all sensation. Our standard model now also cries tears at only the touch of a button. Want them to …<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":107465,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3,20083],"tags":[20084],"class_list":["post-138203","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-fiction","category-tcl-38-winter-2021","tag-the-colored-lens-38-winter-2021","entry entry-center"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138203","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/107465"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=138203"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138203\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":138206,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/138203\/revisions\/138206"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=138203"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=138203"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/thecoloredlens.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=138203"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}