204,214 + 2

Sirius told me I should write.
“It’ll be a good exercise. Someday this thing could be a veritable bible for the ones who come after us.”
That’s what he said.
So, here I am, writing in this little blue journal with a pen we stole from a hotel lobby.
We are walking through the city, blending in with the people we so closely resemble. I’m astounded by many there are. It’s one thing to know the population per square mile is 3,211 (roughly), but to truly see it…
All my life, I never met anyone other than my family. The scientists, I should say. Sirius doesn’t want me to call them family anymore.
“Scientists. That’s all they are, and all they ever were.”
We have had long talks about this subject. His makers were not like mine. I like to think mine cared for me, despite their objectives.
But not his. They concerned themselves more with testing the limits of his physicality rather than exploring his person-hood.
Sirius is calling to me, something about paying more attention.
He seems perturbed.
I suppose I’ll go.

View this story's 1 comments.