Excerpt from "Everyone Everywhere" by Pol Doble
It had always thought of itself as it. At least it started that way. When it talked to itself in the privacy of its own mind, another human habit it picked up along the way, it referred to itself as it. Unless it thought of itself as we, which quite frankly scared the living crap out of it whenever it realized what it was doing.
But, sometimes, after a particularly human experience like a slow breathless kiss, or a long walk, it would refer to itself as she. It had never been brave enough or lost enough to call itself I, but when the drum beats on the dance floor were particularly insistent she would throw her hands in the air. She would turn her head this way and that. Sweat would glisten on her skin.
Now the orders were in. It was finally time to march. Suddenly it was she. She got her orders. She was looking at them right now. To be more specific, she was looking out her window at them. She felt slightly ill but in a good way. That was definitely surprising. If ever there was a time for her to be it, to be it to the core, it would be now.
The fingers on her left hand brushed the skin of her thigh. A sudden awareness: Juliette.
Another: she was going to miss Juliette so much.
She had been wearing Juliette for 2 years, 4 months, 1 day, 12 hours, and 32 minutes. She liked Juliette, she was so comfortable. She liked the fine auburn hair on Juliette's head. (Hair! Who would have thought hair could be so enjoyable?) She liked the big round eyes. Doe eyed, someone had called her once. She liked the feel of the curve of her spine when she held her knees to her chest. Her knees! Such knees! And her chest! Ample, not flopping all over the place. She liked the way Juliette moved; she drove like a dream. Tiny, by Caucasian human standards, Juliette was perfect for turning on tight corners, and navigating small spaces. And oh how she could feel! Every knot on the hardwood floor was a secret already discovered by small curious feet. She looked down at them now. Then she lifted her fingers to her face. 'Look at these freaking fingers!', she said to no one in particular, 'Magnifique!' She liked her French accent, and the strange effect it had on American boys.
Oh the boys, something else of Juliette's she would miss. Boys were hilarious! She still didn't comprehend how boys could function with their cock and balls just dangling there all the time. Juliette's own genitals were internal, compact, and neat, a point of pride she had always been unable to adequately articulate.
In hindsight, maybe a few insecurities would have been more human. They would have made a more complete camouflage. But it didn't matter now. The orders were in; the mission was on.
She looked back out her window at the orders. They were wordier and more cheerful than they needed to be. Obviously whomever was assigned to send them was excited, as it should be. Was it a she too? She was just so sleek and streamlined compared to the exogenitals that another version of Juliette would seem logical. Maybe a tiny Japanese girl with long black hair in a bun, living somewhere on the eastern seaboard. She'd never met another one of them in person, not that she'd have known if she did. The embedding was utterly complete. But this one who conveyed the orders, the herald, it was happy. That made her smile. It was good to be happy now. Soon there would be much sadness.
A sudden giggling fit started somewhere down in her flat tummy (she loved calling it that) and came skipping up her heart and out her mouth.
The noise attracted her roommate. Marion stuck her head into the room, smiling. 'What on earth are you laughing about, hmmmmm?' It doesn't matter, she thought. So she pointed to the clouds and said, 'There is a pun in the orders. A pun!'
But, sometimes, after a particularly human experience like a slow breathless kiss, or a long walk, it would refer to itself as she. It had never been brave enough or lost enough to call itself I, but when the drum beats on the dance floor were particularly insistent she would throw her hands in the air. She would turn her head this way and that. Sweat would glisten on her skin.
Now the orders were in. It was finally time to march. Suddenly it was she. She got her orders. She was looking at them right now. To be more specific, she was looking out her window at them. She felt slightly ill but in a good way. That was definitely surprising. If ever there was a time for her to be it, to be it to the core, it would be now.
The fingers on her left hand brushed the skin of her thigh. A sudden awareness: Juliette.
Another: she was going to miss Juliette so much.
She had been wearing Juliette for 2 years, 4 months, 1 day, 12 hours, and 32 minutes. She liked Juliette, she was so comfortable. She liked the fine auburn hair on Juliette's head. (Hair! Who would have thought hair could be so enjoyable?) She liked the big round eyes. Doe eyed, someone had called her once. She liked the feel of the curve of her spine when she held her knees to her chest. Her knees! Such knees! And her chest! Ample, not flopping all over the place. She liked the way Juliette moved; she drove like a dream. Tiny, by Caucasian human standards, Juliette was perfect for turning on tight corners, and navigating small spaces. And oh how she could feel! Every knot on the hardwood floor was a secret already discovered by small curious feet. She looked down at them now. Then she lifted her fingers to her face. 'Look at these freaking fingers!', she said to no one in particular, 'Magnifique!' She liked her French accent, and the strange effect it had on American boys.
Oh the boys, something else of Juliette's she would miss. Boys were hilarious! She still didn't comprehend how boys could function with their cock and balls just dangling there all the time. Juliette's own genitals were internal, compact, and neat, a point of pride she had always been unable to adequately articulate.
In hindsight, maybe a few insecurities would have been more human. They would have made a more complete camouflage. But it didn't matter now. The orders were in; the mission was on.
She looked back out her window at the orders. They were wordier and more cheerful than they needed to be. Obviously whomever was assigned to send them was excited, as it should be. Was it a she too? She was just so sleek and streamlined compared to the exogenitals that another version of Juliette would seem logical. Maybe a tiny Japanese girl with long black hair in a bun, living somewhere on the eastern seaboard. She'd never met another one of them in person, not that she'd have known if she did. The embedding was utterly complete. But this one who conveyed the orders, the herald, it was happy. That made her smile. It was good to be happy now. Soon there would be much sadness.
A sudden giggling fit started somewhere down in her flat tummy (she loved calling it that) and came skipping up her heart and out her mouth.
The noise attracted her roommate. Marion stuck her head into the room, smiling. 'What on earth are you laughing about, hmmmmm?' It doesn't matter, she thought. So she pointed to the clouds and said, 'There is a pun in the orders. A pun!'