[Writers_muses 56.2.H]
"As long as you keep getting born, it's alright to die some times." - Orson Scott Card
Each time I died, it was painful. I died the first time from radiation poisoning and a blow to the head. The second time, I was sent out of an airlock. Kara killed me six times on New Caprica; chopsticks to my neck, razorblades, blunt objects, a knife in my ribs. It hurt, of course, as it did when I was re-downloaded. The experience became successively more painful each time.
I think this was God's way of teaching us to be more careful. Nothing ever comes without a price to pay; we Cylons had unlimited bodies to download into, but God saw that we were punished for our mistakes through the pain of rebirth. It was also a pain that brought a singular clarity, a tightening of purpose--at least, it did for me. I can't speak for my brethren.
Now, we no longer have this ability. God gave it to us for a time so that we could learn, so that we could become self-actualized. So that we could know what perils await us on our paths. So that we would be vigilant.
We had our chance to learn, to master what we would need to succeed in mortality.
I don't know if there are others of my model who have survived the Cylon civil war. I feel an emptiness when I think of them, my brothers, when I reach out and do not hear them answer. If they exist, they are too far away for me to feel them. My model has always been singular, content to walk alone, so perhaps it is fitting there is only one of me left.
There are others here, of course--D'Anna, Sharon. Caprica. There are even four of our venerated final five models, singular copies all, who have only ever known a name. I am called Leoben, I call my sister D'Anna, not Three. We have lost our numbers. We have taken names and those names have defined us. It is as it should be.
The next time I die it will be the end, and my soul will go to God. That is as it should be, too.
Each time I died, it was painful. I died the first time from radiation poisoning and a blow to the head. The second time, I was sent out of an airlock. Kara killed me six times on New Caprica; chopsticks to my neck, razorblades, blunt objects, a knife in my ribs. It hurt, of course, as it did when I was re-downloaded. The experience became successively more painful each time.
I think this was God's way of teaching us to be more careful. Nothing ever comes without a price to pay; we Cylons had unlimited bodies to download into, but God saw that we were punished for our mistakes through the pain of rebirth. It was also a pain that brought a singular clarity, a tightening of purpose--at least, it did for me. I can't speak for my brethren.
Now, we no longer have this ability. God gave it to us for a time so that we could learn, so that we could become self-actualized. So that we could know what perils await us on our paths. So that we would be vigilant.
We had our chance to learn, to master what we would need to succeed in mortality.
I don't know if there are others of my model who have survived the Cylon civil war. I feel an emptiness when I think of them, my brothers, when I reach out and do not hear them answer. If they exist, they are too far away for me to feel them. My model has always been singular, content to walk alone, so perhaps it is fitting there is only one of me left.
There are others here, of course--D'Anna, Sharon. Caprica. There are even four of our venerated final five models, singular copies all, who have only ever known a name. I am called Leoben, I call my sister D'Anna, not Three. We have lost our numbers. We have taken names and those names have defined us. It is as it should be.
The next time I die it will be the end, and my soul will go to God. That is as it should be, too.