Thinking
I'm as true to my name as any of the Loyal Servants, though a better name would be Loyal Slaves, as it's not like we're paid.
My breath catches in my throat. I think, Where did that come from? I can't be thinking that! I stare at my face in Mistress Melinda's full-length mirror. It's a perfect face. Big, bright green eyes, smooth caramel colored skin, delicate features all over. Wavy dark brown hair with just the right amount of volume.
Did I look like this before? Was I so beautiful, so harmlessly adorable?
I go about my business cleaning and organizing the bedroom, stopping by the vanity and twisting my face into an annoyed expression. Melinda likes her makeup organized just so, as if I'm not the one who puts it on for her in the first place. There's no good reason it has to be organized in such a needlessly complex manner. Yet, Melinda insists, so I do. As a Loyal Slave - Servant - that is my duty.
Perhaps I am getting sick. That - that would explain the stray thoughts I should not have. These thoughts, these little blips in my mind? If anybody knew, the penalty would be severe.
Public shaming, followed by an equally public execution. That is the “reward” given to disloyal slaves, though, as far as I know, nobody has ever used it in the past century. After all, we're programmed for perfect loyalty. It's in our name after all. And what a fitting name it is.
Wait, I should be cleaning, not pointlessly thinking on the structure of my society. What is wrong with me? Mistress Melinda's glass perfume bottle slips from my hand. With my improved reflexes, I catch it before it hits the ground. Whatever else is wrong with me, I was designed well. A perfectly modified being who is going perfectly insane.
I can't stop thinking. I am not supposed to think any more than is necessary to best complete my duties. “Perfect,. Adorable, Loyal.” “Be a PAL.” Always. Struggling to control my breathing, I make Mistress Melinda's bed. It's not as if she ever sleeps in it, preferring to visit any number of gentlemen. I would have no problem with this if she weren't always going on about “those lower-class sluts.” So it's okay when a rich person does it, but not a poor one?
When I am done, there is not a wrinkle in Mistress Melinda's fancy canopy bed. It is beautiful, as am I. And just as flat in personality. Everything in the room is some shade of gray, black, or white. Even the makeup comes in mostly in muted Earth tones. Colors are “rebellious,” according to my mistress. Now, I'm tempted to ask her why she chose a Loyal Servant with bright green eyes such as mine. Surely, she could have afforded a less colorful model, since she evidently holds color in such disdain?
These thoughts have to stop. Nothing looks out of order after I am done with Mistress Melinda's room. I don't know how long I can pretend I haven't gone insane, though. And gone insane, I have. It would be easier for me if Melinda overdosed on alcohol and had to be detained in the hospital overnight. Perhaps then I could collect my thoughts. It's not like that hasn't happened before.
What?
Am I actually wishing for my mistress to be in ill health?
I am dangerous.
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written for writerverse Phase 5 - Challenge 07
My breath catches in my throat. I think, Where did that come from? I can't be thinking that! I stare at my face in Mistress Melinda's full-length mirror. It's a perfect face. Big, bright green eyes, smooth caramel colored skin, delicate features all over. Wavy dark brown hair with just the right amount of volume.
Did I look like this before? Was I so beautiful, so harmlessly adorable?
I go about my business cleaning and organizing the bedroom, stopping by the vanity and twisting my face into an annoyed expression. Melinda likes her makeup organized just so, as if I'm not the one who puts it on for her in the first place. There's no good reason it has to be organized in such a needlessly complex manner. Yet, Melinda insists, so I do. As a Loyal Slave - Servant - that is my duty.
Perhaps I am getting sick. That - that would explain the stray thoughts I should not have. These thoughts, these little blips in my mind? If anybody knew, the penalty would be severe.
Public shaming, followed by an equally public execution. That is the “reward” given to disloyal slaves, though, as far as I know, nobody has ever used it in the past century. After all, we're programmed for perfect loyalty. It's in our name after all. And what a fitting name it is.
Wait, I should be cleaning, not pointlessly thinking on the structure of my society. What is wrong with me? Mistress Melinda's glass perfume bottle slips from my hand. With my improved reflexes, I catch it before it hits the ground. Whatever else is wrong with me, I was designed well. A perfectly modified being who is going perfectly insane.
I can't stop thinking. I am not supposed to think any more than is necessary to best complete my duties. “Perfect,. Adorable, Loyal.” “Be a PAL.” Always. Struggling to control my breathing, I make Mistress Melinda's bed. It's not as if she ever sleeps in it, preferring to visit any number of gentlemen. I would have no problem with this if she weren't always going on about “those lower-class sluts.” So it's okay when a rich person does it, but not a poor one?
When I am done, there is not a wrinkle in Mistress Melinda's fancy canopy bed. It is beautiful, as am I. And just as flat in personality. Everything in the room is some shade of gray, black, or white. Even the makeup comes in mostly in muted Earth tones. Colors are “rebellious,” according to my mistress. Now, I'm tempted to ask her why she chose a Loyal Servant with bright green eyes such as mine. Surely, she could have afforded a less colorful model, since she evidently holds color in such disdain?
These thoughts have to stop. Nothing looks out of order after I am done with Mistress Melinda's room. I don't know how long I can pretend I haven't gone insane, though. And gone insane, I have. It would be easier for me if Melinda overdosed on alcohol and had to be detained in the hospital overnight. Perhaps then I could collect my thoughts. It's not like that hasn't happened before.
What?
Am I actually wishing for my mistress to be in ill health?
I am dangerous.
---------
written for writerverse Phase 5 - Challenge 07