Typecast: You Are Not the Ideal

Somewhere, 2027.

Hey, so you are an augmented person. You have a vehicle accident and now you have a prosthetic arm. You are still you, but others don’t seem to think so. You walk down the street moving quickly with your arm tucked inside a large coat. Nothing to see here, nothing at all. Every day you see signs about cleaning up the streets of the “machine” presence. “They aren’t the same as us!”

But what can you do? Every day you seem to dart and avoid, moving about in an effort to escape. This is no way to live your life. None of this directed propaganda is illegal, your freedoms are not infringed, but you feel the threat.

You are objectified.

Day by day you are never attacked, but you feel the stares, the glares, the eyes. Eyes always watching your movements because you are different from the rest. You are but one, so your voice, your opinions don’t matter. It is a sense of powerlessness against the man, that the few of you augmented people feel.

“Machine,” a person hisses at you.

You move into the doorway and into the corridor, round the edge of the hall, lights flickering. It’s all you can afford you know. You move into your room, you shut the door, you bolt the locks, you move into the singular room, and you sit in the chair. Your heart rate was pounding in your head. “Machine” repeats in your mind. You see it as just another day.

You wake up the next day and move your arms, one fluid, the other still warming up. You move to walk out the door, but you pause. Alright, here is to another day of a stereotyped threat because you have a prosthetic arm.

You believe you are inferior based on your condition.

It is bright when you emerge from the corridor. You move to the sidewalk and you began the same quick walk to work as always. You are a part machine, and you make machines. You make the parts that compose the very arm you have received.

One by one you add the pieces to another arm that would save a life, but doom a person to judgement by others.

You hear a large bang from below the shop floor. Just the molds dropping from casting another set of arms. You have an augmented body, so you can’t be as good as others, you think. After 8 hours you walk out of the doors with many others who are augmented. You all share the same gift, the same affliction. You see a large mob coming towards you to protest the factory. You see police rounding the corner and tear gas flies to disperse the crowds.

You begin to run away. You run away, anywhere but there. Fear guides you. The police cut a few of you off. They see your glowing arm, but do not see your fear as their own fear guides them.

“Wait!” You say. But you are shot anyway for resisting, you are a threat. But as you lay on the ground, the world still in chaos around you. You are different, you are a machine, but you still bleed red.

 

 

 

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