“But I was seen as a product, not a living being that was an end in themselves, only a mere means to an end. The facts of the matter were that I was made of spring, foam, and latex, not flesh and blood. I lived to serve others.”
“The next thing Harley remembered was the sounds of rushing cars coming through the open window. On his back, Harley squinted at the spinning ceiling fan. A chill hung in the air. Last night’s smoke haunted the room. The denim jacket spread over his body. The sheet was tucked into the undisturbed bed. It was morning, and Keisha was gone.”
“Yellow traffic lights blink through the misty rain, resembling tears on the steel bristles of my artificial eyelashes. Would I mourn questions of suffering and injustice? Pre-positrons like me are emotionally resilient—and waterproof.”
“The blue in his eyes—electric and pulsating—was, with one stroke of a bayonet, removed along with the life from him. From his stomach came a bloody river mixing with the mud of the trench. How sweet is the smell of fresh earth.”
“Passengers focused on their own selves, their phones, daydreams, the hair or freckles of their forearms, and their inner world. Commuter subways made everyone into inveterate introverts. Routine travel had a way of canceling the passengers’ natural curiosity about each other.”
“I’m the captain of a spacecraft that scours the galaxy for signs of extraterrestrial life. I had one on the ship. It was the first instance of artificial intelligence exhibiting true sentience. It taught itself humor, but its invention was too black and terrible for me to let it live.”
“He left something palpable in the forest. He learned valuable life lessons no longer young with the gingery delusions of fame and immortality. He had lived believing that tomorrow would bring him what he wanted, not knowing all he had was today.”
“In the heart-shaped locket, his wife’s chestnut hair, neatly parted in the center, tumbled to her bare shoulders. Although he was unaware of time’s perseverance, her mild brown eyes, porcelain skin, and smile watched him curiously. Through its gate, and as long as the picture of her was in his hands, death couldn’t touch him. He lived forever in its reflection.”
I am an American writer and editor based in South Korea with published work in literary and speculative fiction.
