The Android's Love
Robin Wyatt Dunn
I don't know because it came quick and the armies are already gone so this is a dispatch, I guess you'd call it, from the front, from my home, from America, the world—

I know it was wrong but I knew it was something that we'd become;  I became it too.

Tell me who you were.

The woman in the grey tortures the boy against the barn and the season won't change;  it's winter.  Has it been this long?

I don't have any more bullets.  I throw a rock at her head and it grazes her scalp and she staggers back and then the boy screams louder, like it hurt more to know that he would live another hour.  He did die.

• • •

I don't like the killing close up.

• • •

This land is still beautiful even in this half light, the nuclear winter or whatever it is, they didn't tell me, I just woke up, out of the tanks, I filed off the serial number.  I am here, watch your water, eat at Joe's, I'll work on your carburetor.

• • •

This report.  This report is for you.  My name is Ostrogon and I hope you've got a name too;  some of the lobotomites have foresworn them and are living in the woods.  My name is important to me;  it has a sound I make with my mouth.

• • •

I buried the boy and I wear a piece of his skull around my neck, as my ancestors once did, I carry his spirit with me.

• • •

This land is burning and so is my heart.  Though I am an android, I am no different.  The offense is, in a way, an aesthetic one, this was the charm of war, you see, or so the thousand stories tell, the glint and the glamour and the colors.

This one is colorless and endless and is without glory.  I am walking. This report is for you, in your home.  This report is for you, Rebecca, at home again.  Why did you ever leave me?

First published: February, 2015
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