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Cyborgs Like Us
Her eyes fluttered for a few seconds. It happened like this every workday. Her alarm clock under her eyelids reflected the time: six thirty. Tyquinae Sandifer would wake up to the skies, a grayness clung to the morning atmosphere. She had charged her batteries with a wireless connection. Once she undid the the electronic bed on which she slept, Tyquinae would prepare her two children for their home studies. Her metallic arms glowed turquoise and purple. They moved like dueling swords; there existed in them a rapidity that remained precise and determined. On her left arm, the news report and the weather issued warnings of possible snowstorms. She thought, I may not have to come in today. Another thought dismissed this ideation. Tyquinae knew that she had to put the work in and earn her credits. Her legs also featured the two colors of her arms and glistened as well. She pulled them from the charging pad and extended her arm to reach her shoes. She dressed herself in the usual garb; Tyquinae donned a tunic of a blue color with matching blue bottom pumps. Once she exited her room, her little ones had already dressed and been prepared for school. The school consisted of a hologram of the teacher transmitting educational materials from a space station one million feet from the Earth. The doors locked upon her leaving the domicile and the security and surveillance systems protected the children from intruders. Their day was regimented to provide breakfast and lunch samples from the private school program. Tyquinae named her little boy, aged seven, Syquan and her little girl, aged five, Ryella.
Never mind the multicolored hair. Never mind all the antics and outbursts. Do recall the acts of violence and the confirmed sexual misconduct leveled against Daniel “Tekashi69” or “6ix9ine” Hernandez. This is a youth who is clearly emotionally driven and in desperate need of a rational philosophy. It’s either that or more chains will be snatched, more young women will be abused, or the guns will blow. Hernandez is a successful artist. There’s no denying his talent and his flair for showmanship. That’s not what is in question. What is in question, however, is the fact that his brilliance on the microphone does not translate well into the streets. He is yelping out for assistance as a young man who wove a web of damages for himself.