Martha March, Day Two
Day Two Prompt Word*: 'Alive'
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Havve laid his hand on his chest, right in the center, right over his blank shirt that he had chosen that morning. His chest exuded a false warmth, seeping into his cold fingers like clouds rolling over the sky. Slow, from one point to the next. Temporary.
A beat sounded in his ears. Steady as ever, thumping through his very being, counting each artificial heart beat. Only sound. There was no pressure under his cool hand. No thumping in his chest. No movement.
He shut his eyes, although he did not need to. He did not need to blink. The eyes were not real, just pin pricks of red light over black material, cameras. Computerized and artificial, put there by someone with a purpose. But they were his.
A wind blew over the cliff side he laid on. Soft and cool, pressing over his exposed skin and fighting with the warmth of his chest. He did not move. He did not need to move. Something deep inside managed his internal temperature. Cold could not harm something like him.
Havve opened his eyes. The stars stretched above him, endless and unmoving. Little scanners and sensors chimed for attention, naming each star, each place he'd already been, galaxies and planets and solar systems out of reach of this planet.
They grew quiet, eventually, after they put out their piece. ‘They’... The sensors were his. The sensors were not real. They relied on computers on computers, drawing from his firm memory to show him these things.
That was what he was. Havve was a mess of computers. Blinking lights, thumping sounds, wires and cords, programming and cataloging. Fake warmth, fake sight, fake heartbeat, fake knowledge.
And yet… Havve carefully drew in a breath. Slow, raspy, a dry scrape of air through his throat, bordering just on the comfortable side of being painful. He pulled the cold air into his chest, and held it, concentrating on the way his hand moved, pushed up by the force of air within him.
He did not need to breathe. It wasn’t something any of his systems relied on. Most days, he was unsure why Sung even decided to save his lungs.
The air was no longer cold. Havve let the air back out into the sky, hand dropping back down once more.
He did not need to breathe. But he could. He did.
Havve’s memories were computerized, focused on importance and intellect, but he still chose to know what his favorite drink was.
Havve’s internal temperature was regulated. He would not die from a drop in temperature. But his hands were still cold.
He sat up and pulled his sleeves down, here they had previously been rolled up to almost his elbows.
His eyes, artificial and fake, looked over the dry landscape stretching out from the cliff he sat on, legs dangling off the side. He sought out views like this. Did that mean he liked them?
Havve looked down at his hands. Flesh like.
Havve did not know what he was. He did not know what he was made for, or what was going on in his mess of a body.
But to him, this was enough. He was alive. And that was enough.
*Todays Prompt for me! I made my own list and never posted it, but let me know if anyone has interest in seeing it and following along :D
Also this is purely based off my personal headcanons :)
