Turning City

I was born in one of the blank white rooms surrounded by old men and robots. Large copper and silver cogs clanged together, matching the beats of the clock, or so I’m told. They locked me away in the cold, dark freezer to wait for a family that may never arrive. This process has an 11% death rate. Advantageously, I survived.

          After a number of years, I was removed and placed under of Mr and Mrs Evergreen, also known as Mum and Dad, at 14:00 on the adoption day of 2211. This was my introduction to the owners of the residence in which I would spend the next sixteen years and nine months.

          I was an only child and entered the local primary school at the time of three years since I was removed from the freezer. It was here where, after three weeks, I would meet the first person I would call a friend. She was in reception, just as I was. Her parents, Mr and Mrs Rosario, had named her after their favourite flower which used to grow here: Tulip.     Her hair was blonde, like most tulips in books, and we would often play together. We would make up all sorts of games, none that I can remember anymore, and we would talk about what we wanted to do if we grew older. I wanted to be a writer. She wanted to draw. I asked her if she would draw for my books. She said if I asked nicely. We continued to stay near each other for a few years. Sometimes, we would play together, and my stomach would turn, and I would feel anxious in a good way as my hand would brush up against hers. I told Mum and Dad one day after I came back from class. This process has a 13% death rate. Advantageously, I survived.

          At the time of seven years and one month, they moved me to the private school.

          I never saw Tulip again.

          At the new school, the children were a lot louder. I was an outsider. They told me that my nose was big, and my arms were small, and my ears stuck out, and my eyes were strange. I started admiring Mrs Parson’s metallic ears and Mrs Robinson’s metal cheek.

          At the time of eight years and two months, William Oakley caught my attention. Children had been discussing his spots for years. He returned to school after a few weeks, boasting about real patches of some titanium alloy drummed into his arms. Children crowded around him in awe as he showed it off for show-and-tell. I found myself wondering if it had hurt. I asked my mother, but she dismissed it.

          At the time of eleven years and nine months, I was moved into the local secondary school. This was when people started acting like Mum and Dad. This was when people started expecting me to act like Mum and Dad. Boys started to stare at me when I walked down the corridor. They started to tell me I was different. They started to tell me I was ugly. They started to tell me I was prettier when I smiled. I started keeping my weekly allowance along with coins I found on the ground and put them in a piggy bank to save for my first modification.

          At the time of thirteen years and eleven months, I had saved up enough and went to the local doctor. He showed me a diagram of another girl my age with blonde hair. He was staring at my green eye. I told him I wanted to start small, with my ears. Mum and Dad signed some papers. I got my first modification. This process has a 12% death rate. Advantageously, I survived.

          At the time of fourteen years and one month, I returned to school. Boys started approaching me a lot more. They started rating me with the prettier girls. Mum said she was proud of me.

          At the time of sixteen years and nine months and one week, I moved out of Mum and Dad’s house and into a room in a shared flat nearby my tertiary school. I thought moving would make me feel better. It didn’t. I was hired by the shop next door to work as a cashier whilst I studied. The owner was a man in his late thirties. He started flirting with me. I pretended not to notice.

          At the time of sixteen years, nine months and one week and one day, I started my infrastructure course. My first day bored me. They spoke of the cogs that turn around the city. I didn’t want to be there.

          At the time of sixteen years, nine months, three weeks, and six days, I met a girl called Emily. She was on my course. She was kind and her voice sounded nice. She wanted to be a writer.

          At the time of sixteen years ten months, two weeks and two days, I asked out William Oakley. I had seen him in the hallway that morning. He had upgraded the rest of his arm and a portion of his cheek. He was currently studying engineering. He complimented my ears but said I would be prettier if I looked more like his friend’s girlfriend. She had blue eyes and a dainty nose and metal lips and a tongue that clicked every time it hit the top of her mouth.

          At the time of sixteen years, ten months, two weeks and five days, I was studying with William Oakley on some overlap in our courses. He made some cruel comments about my essay. He asked me if I actually liked writing. I said no. He said good. That night, I threw out all my books.

          At the time of sixteen years, ten months and three weeks, I had my first kiss. Their dry lips met mine and sent a jolt of electricity down my spine. I pushed them off me. I didn’t return to college for one week.

          Weeks later, my mind would still play this memory in my head. I decided it must have been a terrible experience for it to haunt me this often. I went back to the hospital. I went through robots, then doctors, then one robot, then two doctors, then one. Questions. Who are you? What’s the matter with you? Are you sure? Why do you think that? Are you sure? Then they locked me in a cold room. This process has a 13% death rate. Advantageously, I survived.

          At the time of sixteen years, eleven months, two weeks and one day, I returned to school. I couldn’t remember much of the incident anymore, just the metallic taste and clicking sounds as lips met my own. William broke up with me that day. He told me I had been growing distant. He told me he didn’t want to be with a crazy freak. He told me it would bring his status down. I agreed.

          At the time of seventeen years, one month, two weeks and one day, I went to the doctor again to discuss the possibilities of another modification. He stared at my green eyes. I told him I wanted a new nose. He asked me if I was sure. I said yes. This process has a 11% death rate. Advantageously, I survived.

          At the time of sixteen years, six months, four weeks and two days, I decided committing wasn’t for me. I started going to more parties, kissing random boys, even going further with some. I can’t even remember who I lost my virginity to. Some complimented my ears. They told me they made me look richer. Others complimented my nose. They told me it made me look small and dainty. To everyone, I began to fall into the nickname of College Whore. Eventually, William’s parents found out and reached out to mine. Mum and Dad called me three nights later. I told them I was sad William had left me. They told me they were disappointed in me. I hung up and cried. They put me on the wait list for group therapy.

          At the time of seventeen years, seven months, one week and one day, I went to my first and final group session. I was surrounded by other girls and a few boys lying about being sad about their exes or current relationships. The instructor pointed at me. I strung up a story I thought sounded good and added in elements from others’ stories. He nodded and moved onto the next person. I approached him after the session had ended. He had a metal wrist. I asked him if he thought I was healthy now. He asked me the same thing. I said yes.

          At the time of seventeen years, eight months, two weeks and one day, I was at work. I was scanning a doll with a faux metal mouth and ears for a twelve-year-old girl. The boy she was with said it was stupid how many jobs were being taken over by robots as she scanned her card. She collected her doll and said it was odd that they didn’t just use self-checkouts. I decided I was done with modifications.

          At the time of seventeen years, nine months and three weeks, I found that Emily had switched to the English course. I didn’t see her as much anymore. She messaged me after three days. We met up at school that day. She said she liked my eyes. She said they reminded her of the forest. I asked if she had even seen a tree before. She laughed and said no, only in books. I invited her around to my flat. We watched an old nature documentary together.

          At the time of eighteen years and three months, Emily invited me out. She told me about a milkshake place near our school. We went there and I helped her with some of her English homework. She said I was intelligent. I smiled and thanked her. She said she meant it. I didn’t know how to respond.

          After many days, we started hanging out a lot more. I even skipped a few classes for the odd cinema trip or meal out together.

          After many weeks, she started to become more skittish. She would glance behind us as we walked through open spaces.

          After many months, we went out to see the water and we sat on the edge of one of the oversized old rusted broken cogs. She said it was beautiful. She said she liked the fact that an out-of-date cog could be the same colour as the sunset. I said it was broken. She said it just wasn’t in use. I agreed. I said she sounded like an English student. I said she was beautiful. She looked at me. She had hazel eyes. I’d never noticed that before. I kissed her. She kissed me back.

At the time of nineteen years, seven months, two weeks and seven days, she pulled herself back. She stared at me. She stood up. She excused herself.

At the time of nineteen years, seven months, four weeks and one day, Emily went to the hospital. This process has a 13% death rate.

At the time of nineteen years, seven months, four weeks, one day and thirteen hours, Emily died.

          At the time of nineteen years, seven months, four weeks, one day, thirteen hours and twenty-one minutes, I tore my room to shreds. I finally decided to change my eye. I left the moment the doctor’s opened. Matching the blue would be better, I told them. This time, I signed all the documents. I sat in the chair. I watched as the needle creeped towards my eye before drilling through it and there was blood everywhere and they peeled my skin back, and I can still feel where the metal is clasped underneath my skin and the blood that rushes past it and-

          I apologise, I forgot myself. I am sorry.

          This process has a 27% death rate. Disadvantageously, I survived.

-        And that’s everything?

-        Yes.

-        And you’re feeling better?

-        No.

-        Are you sure?