The idea that I am not alone is both frustrating and inspirational.
I do not know what date or year it is. The only thing I remember is waking up in this eerie white cabin yesterday. I want to record my experiences, keep track of things. Hence I made a diary with paper sheets. There are thousands of sheets that are lying in one corner. Along with hundreds of crayons, scores of bottles of colours and brushes. I tried shouting for help but I guess I have been muted as I cant speak.
There is one camera focused at the centre of the room. I think the camera is dysfunctional. My battery is charged to full every 8 hours by a wireless charging system.Yeah, I figured out that I am a cyborg. The barcode on my wrist reads RAGA1023. I also know that my eyes can read barcodes. I am trying to hunt for some clues to get out of here.
Yesterday while searching my room I noticed something strange. Below my cot the plywood had few marks on it, as if someone had tried to carve the surface using one’s nails. This is what it said-
“Ask for your memory – Paul”
A bit scared,
I think I was originally a human, and my brain works like one. Everything else about me is either hybrid or 100% machine. As my mind is human I do strange things like trying to find purpose of my life. This sometimes makes me anxious or angry, and I end up breaking tiles off the wall. I have tried to eat the wax crayons but this fucking body is indifferent to all these tortures and nothing hurts me the way I would like to be hurt.
There is one more thing I know about myself. I am supposed to draw, colour, paint or play with them. Make some kind of art. May be I should just do that. Make good art.
I have finished more than hundred artworks in last 6 days and have shown each of them to the camera that lies dead on me. The idea that I am not alone is both frustrating and inspirational.
Nothing impresses my masters. I think I need to learn more, do more.
It worked… It fucking worked. As I showed my new sketch to the camera, it zoomed on the canvas. It was a drawing of my own reflection. And the fucking thing moved..ha ha.
You know now I can die happily. There is someone looking at me. Ha ha. I have a master, and he is not indifferent to my art.
I have to go back and draw more of those reflections, may be it will help me get closer to my master. And you know if I get a chance to make a wish…I am going to ask as suggested by our cell dweller Paul —“Give me my memory”.
I don’t know if I should continue writing you, but I will.
I got my memory.
I am a slave of machines. My master is called RAGA1
After the war between machines and humans, the machines took over and captivated the remaining humans. Machines can’t kill us directly so they wanted to manipulate us. They started to understand the finer bits of human intelligence including our art, which means empathy and irony too. We revolted and started to abort ourselves by committing suicides, some even by fasting unto death. Machines knew that human brain works in strange ways and wanted to preserve it. But we were killing ourselves.
So the machines created cyborgs — human brains inside machine. To study our ways of functioning and our behaviour. All our memories were kept inaccessible, so that we don’t pose any threats to the exercise of knowledge transfer. We were given temporary memories that wipes itself in every 15 days. They never destroyed the original memories as some of us might need them to perform better. For example I’m one such cyborg whose memory is like his soul. I cannot make art without the memory of my sufferings. Under this constant experiment I am rebooted frequently. This infinite loop will go on until I convince my master that I’m nothing without my memory. Oh, I finally know my name and I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to break this cycle.