What should be here? More flowers? I place more flowers, but they don’t fit. Too bright. Too Sickly. But there isn’t anything else, so I leave it. I leave the gaudy flowers to clog the pot like a big garish shit, so they swallow up the charm and interest out of anything else. Those festoons of copper, that varnished ebony – meaningless! Just things that happen to be near the domineering fan of burning, sickly colour. That factory of sweet nausea. That sight-stealing bundle of joy.
You know, I never really stopped bettering myself. Since the tech became affordable, I pawned all of my jewellery and bought the best implant I could. It was an eye replacement, actually, for the left one. You know, one of those little W-0622 GIBSON numbers?
Something was mumbled at first, but loud enough for me to hear it – my life sentence. I already know where I’m going, and why I’m going there – but nothing I can say or do can ever change it. Maybe my fate was sealed from the start.