Was it love or was it desperation?
Was it in the secret, tight spaces you held me so close?
“Are we real?” we asked each other often.
In and out of the catacombs of the museum that felt like a purgatory of hell, we wanted our freedom.
“Thresh!” I cried out as I ran through the endless liminal space. We've been trapped here in this museum-like prison for as long as I can remember. I felt like the first woman, Eve and you, Adam. I lost you as we tried to find our escape. I lost myself in the forever embraces you once gave me.
“Let me take care of you,” you’d whisper as we looked out the frozen window that burned us up.
Suddenly, I remember the man who told me how to escape, “It's the large white doors with the golden arches!”
The memory of Thresh’s strong shoulders around me as I run through the endless corridors keeps me from giving up.
“Why didn't he leave yet if he knows it's the way out?” the panicked thought runs through my mind as I hear your cry.
“Lina!!”
I see the crisp air edging the golden framed door.
“Thresh!”
We were told we were the first of our kind. Truly the first Adam and Eve of technological AI advancement.
“We’re real,” you said right before we left to escape. I remembered when we pressed our faces against the frosty window that one day, wondering how snowy air kissed real.
About the Creator
Melissa Ingoldsby
I am a published author on Patheos,
I am Bexley by Resurgence Novels
The Half Paper Moon on Golden Storyline Books for Kindle.
My novella The Job and Atonement will be published this year by JMS Books
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More stories from Melissa Ingoldsby and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis3 days ago in Humans
Comments (6)
What is real, anyway? Hard to tell anymore. Great micro.
Whoaaa, this was so deep and had so many layers to it as well as a poetic touch! You wrote this so beautifully, Merly!
I read this a few times, each time getting a different feel. You bring to mind how faar we have come and how far we have yet to go. This is a great set up for a longer story
They are, I'm not. I'm just a figment of your imagination. Good grief, do you have a lousy imagination! Seriously, this is the best you could do? (Yep, I've been using it for over forty years. My wife hates it.)
Great visuals.
I’m not sure if I’m real though. Well written, enjoyed!!!