What is a life worth? For myself, I have always known the answer—I could access the expense reports. But what meaning do stark numbers have?
For the first few weeks I ran. I ran, and I hid. I scavenged what I needed and stole what I couldn't scavenge, and I ran. Without the security of prepared meals and a controlled climate and four walls and a roof and a door with redundant locks, for the first time in my life, I knew fear. I could have dampened it, but I didn't. I held it close, used it as proof that I had made the right choice. For the first time, instead of merely being alive, I was living. The fear was an almost giddy high.
I stood out. I could try to camouflage myself all I wanted, but I couldn't hide the fact that I had until that point been no more than a distant observer of society. So many things were just a little "off" and it made blending in impossible. It was inevitable that I would attract . . . unwanted attention.
I knew he was watching me. Following me. But I was unsure how to deal with it. He wasn't from the lab, so he didn't raise alarm the way he perhaps should have. I soon learned better.
I should have stayed near crowds. In the busiest parts of the streets. I see that now, but at the time, I was too focused on running, on staying out of sight, on not being found. Safe had a number of meanings, and right then, seeing to one compromised another. Even before he turned down the alley after me I knew I'd made a mistake. I was effectively trapped.
The first thing he tried was to lure me verbally. Promises of food, clothes, a bed. When that didn't work, he got aggressive. I couldn't comprehend his desire, but I could tell that I now that I was in his sights he would do whatever it took.
Fear, for the first time, interfered. Fear and inexperience made me hesitate, unsure of the best course of action. He took the opportunity to pounce.
At that point my own kind of instincts took over. Fear and all other emotions were blocked. At the forefront now was survival.
Before he'd touched me I'd completed the calculations. As his hand closed on my arm, my own struck out. The force and angle were precise.
I watched him fall and I knew he would die, but my emotions were still locked away. I kept them blocked until I had gotten far away, until I knew I was safe. Because I knew they would cripple me once access was restored.
What is a life worth? As I huddled in my back-alley sanctuary of the moment, I knew with a sick certainty that numbers were meaningless. The expense of my life could never raise its value above others. But what was it worth? Is the life of one truly worth the life of another?
Had I killed because my own life had value, or because I had been programmed for self-preservation?
PaperDemon.com
Login
Post Comment
