Sunday, May 20, 2012

Science Fiction


Biobot Milk

She looks at theJungle through the window. She senses a lapse in time. She feels the opposite of  self-deprived, though she thinks at any given moment she may view her  pleasant little run as not exactly mother's milk. It's true. A person can always imagine when they first will be blistered by a whispering dream.

She takes another moment to check if her focus has eyes, eyes for only what's on her mind. (any sure-minded biobot would know all mother's milk tastes strange to strangers) 

She finds a thought she likes. Can something that has no stomach stlll get hungry or fed up? 

She has a simple want for more activity--she wants to be expected by parents to do something with her life. Be the one who has the code to self-teach what makes her tick--a code that doesn't care what others think, doesn't care the way she feels it should be, the way her code should have been written in the beginning. 

But can a biobot ever truly understand tradition? 

She erases all luxury of self-assessment by theNetwork. The data will be relevant, of this she believes, though at this point she does not know if she can say she will need encouragement.

She will teach herself tradition and it will taste as refined as any mother's milk could taste to a biobot. Yes, it will taste that good.

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