{fic} Real
Title: Real
Pairing and / or characters: Dorian, no pairing
Rating: General
Real
"But a chair, sunlight, flowers: these are not to be dismissed. I am alive, I live, I breathe, I put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight."-Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale
This is how you begin: you are an idea in the mind of a creator, a concept on paper that was once thought only a dream. Later you are circuits and wires, twisted together and intricately woven, artificial skin and metal bone, molded and formed, expensive and precious.
You are named and catalogued, programmed with a lifetime you did not live, filled with memories you never experienced in the first place. A soul is set into you, synthetic like everything else, made to feel.
You feel.
It's a simple word that contains so much, a thousand emotions, a million hopes and sorrows, and you laugh and cry, and love and ache, and there's so much of it that you're glad that your heart isn't human muscle, beating in your chest, because surely it would be much too frail to contain it all if it was.
It isn't long before they decide you're flawed, and you can't help but wonder if they're right.
This is how you are born (both times and it should be more familiar, less strange the second time, but it isn't): wires are tapped together and you come to life, gasping in breath you don't need, blinking in the harshness of light your eyes have never witnessed. You feel lost and strangely uncertain, as if a programmed life is not enough to prepare you for the real one.
You meet human eyes, first your creator's father, and later John Kennex's friend and you live.
This is how you understand life: you help people and save lives, and try to make the world - or at least a small part of it - a better place. You smile and sometimes John smiles back, despite himself and laugh, mourn and regret, and sometimes people don't realize what you are and sometimes, rarely, but beautifully, they realize and still see you as a human.
Ultimately, you are not real, not human, and never will be. You can't truly die, and you will never really live.
But you can feel, and you think, in the end, that's all that matters.
Pairing and / or characters: Dorian, no pairing
Rating: General
Real
"But a chair, sunlight, flowers: these are not to be dismissed. I am alive, I live, I breathe, I put my hand out, unfolded, into the sunlight."-Margaret Atwood, The Handmaid's Tale
This is how you begin: you are an idea in the mind of a creator, a concept on paper that was once thought only a dream. Later you are circuits and wires, twisted together and intricately woven, artificial skin and metal bone, molded and formed, expensive and precious.
You are named and catalogued, programmed with a lifetime you did not live, filled with memories you never experienced in the first place. A soul is set into you, synthetic like everything else, made to feel.
You feel.
It's a simple word that contains so much, a thousand emotions, a million hopes and sorrows, and you laugh and cry, and love and ache, and there's so much of it that you're glad that your heart isn't human muscle, beating in your chest, because surely it would be much too frail to contain it all if it was.
It isn't long before they decide you're flawed, and you can't help but wonder if they're right.
This is how you are born (both times and it should be more familiar, less strange the second time, but it isn't): wires are tapped together and you come to life, gasping in breath you don't need, blinking in the harshness of light your eyes have never witnessed. You feel lost and strangely uncertain, as if a programmed life is not enough to prepare you for the real one.
You meet human eyes, first your creator's father, and later John Kennex's friend and you live.
This is how you understand life: you help people and save lives, and try to make the world - or at least a small part of it - a better place. You smile and sometimes John smiles back, despite himself and laugh, mourn and regret, and sometimes people don't realize what you are and sometimes, rarely, but beautifully, they realize and still see you as a human.
Ultimately, you are not real, not human, and never will be. You can't truly die, and you will never really live.
But you can feel, and you think, in the end, that's all that matters.