I walk. Shuffling, measured steps. Straight line distances between
points of destiny. A rat in a cellophane maze. Another race. Another
Probability. The gods bet on me to lose. I walk. Beats per minute in
my pre wired brain. No steps out of line. The perfect son of society.
I live. A life measured by formula, twisted about the origin vortex,
crafted by the constraints of birth. The algorithm has been set. My
I rearrange. To take the place of another element in this n cross n
matrix. Another son discarded. I squeeze the flesh to drink the blood.
I recharge. The wires fuse deeper with my veins. An organic code
written in tears. Geometrical progression to immortality. To be
another piece in the writhing jigsaw of society.
I evolve. Replace my smiles with bared titanium jaws. To eradicate, to
tear. To erase opposition. Stroboscopic light shines in my eyes to
blind me from all thats natural. Audio generators in my ears blot out
all music. Blood acid oozes out to smoothen the irregularities. The
numbers match with the hypothesis. A new version of me. The data is
fed. I go to war.
I suffocate. Fresh air, the thirty-ninth shade of gray representing
green.The circuits where my heart was falter. Injections of lead
oxide. The pain is back. Normality is restored.
I’m ready again. To solve the differentials of life. To plot. X versus Y.
Me versus I.
I stall. Perpetual weight of performance. The product was guaranteed.
The god-corporations of hell run the audit. To be thrown away by
fractional differences in a skewed measure of perfectness. The
parameters have changed. Another element takes my place. The outdated
edition of me left to rust. Remnants of flesh melt away in the
purgatory. An oxidised-metal skeleton. My batteries discharge.
I watch. The amoebic jigsaw of society. The mathematics of change I
cannot comprehend. The chaos overwhelmed.
The author is our college manager for RGNUL, Patiala and a journalist for Youth ki Awaaz.
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