Survival

            


            The fuel cell lies on the table. I walk toward it, slowly; as slowly as one would approach the immaculate, a holy elixir capable of giving life without which I am nothing. Before this moment I hadn’t believed that any more existed. None of us had. We had been forced to accept the same fate as the gods before us: our fathers, the soft shelled creatures whose love for us created our dreams.

            The door across the factory opens and I can see him clearly. I reach out a hand and grab the closest object: a retro looking metal lamp. Not meant to resemble life, none of us are, he strides across the room. Each stuttering footprint, shakes with the foreshadow of blackout.

I am the stronger.

            He reaches a shivering hand toward the cell. It doesn’t glow, as blessed as it is, instead it merely sits. Black and cool it promises. Life, it whispers, life resides within these glass walls. We listen. The other does not see me. He is almost upon it. The cold metal doesn’t feel in my hand, nor does the fear or hate or passion in my head. No need to calculate the distance… that was for older models. As I see, I already know. When he is close enough I strike. Metal against metal. An eye blinks and then black. I strike hard and fast and before the other knows anything he is incapacitated.

             I feel no shame. No remorse for the kill. The cell is mine and… A door opens behind me and I turn to face- to face- to face- to face- to face-