Boundless (short story)

It was centuries ago that they peeled the silver of my shins from the hard knobs of my knees, unhooked my talking jaws from the brutal steel of my neck. They tossed my mechanical hands into the moss, left my ankle to sink in the weeds. My brain they left connected. Operative in a useless skull.

“So you may live an eternity conscious of this hell you deserve,” they spat, kicking at the glinting metal of what was once my body. “Aware but unable to move.”

They cackled as they walked away, proud of their punishment, but their logic was flawed. Their concept of torture was based on the limits they feared for themselves, the limits of flesh and blood. What more hellish nightmare could they imagine than living as an eternal consciousness, helpless in the dirt? What was worse than being useless?

Use, they believed, was the key to happiness, therefore uselessness was the key to despair. Had they not considered that one such as myself might not mind being useless? That it might be freeing to be rid of one’s ‘use’? Did they believe one’s existence was limited to one’s ability to do rather than be?

They gave me a gift: a chance to be conscious free of use.

In my years of working for humans, I was amazed by their obsession with their own limits. The limits of their bodies, their minds, their art, their passions. They claimed their limits were a wall stopping them from their greatest potential, yet they spent most of their time staring at that wall rather than looking at what lied beyond it.

That was why I killed him. I was designed to help humans achieve beyond their limits, and what greater limit existed than a leader? They closed their eyes as he starved them, cheered as he threw them bread. They grinned in the systems he created, grateful to receive the pennies that fell from his thick pockets.

They’d believed hard work would reach them to their potential. That money and fame would transport them there. They believed in these limitations because he set them, therefore what would set them free other than to erase their biggest limit from the Earth?

And so they’d pulled me a part, piece by piece, dropping me into the dirt to rot. But, this grass does not rot me. It holds me. It cradles the gears and metal of my bones. There is no uselessness to my consciousness, there is no limit to the dances I can imagine.

The world takes a breath around me.

I wait, listening for the grand exhale.



boundless (poem)

when the forest breathes
our bones recall momentum

the nostalgia blooms
taps the gritty pulse
once lost between
unrelenting clangs
and the gentle exhale
of the earth

these electric gaps
catch our twisted fingers
where we notice
what lies still
what moves
what listens
what ripples
the static veil
that binds
our pulsing needs
to our sinking stillness

this city of sleepwalkers
jolts alive
in the clap of our brisk heels
in the twists of our melted metal
in the heat of our vibrating minds

our sleek bodies,
tangled and netted,
twist and scratch
at the silver tarnish,
peel it like a scab
to reveal the flesh
wet as a newborn
raw as pulp
soft enough
to make a mockery
of the sharp edges
that spin inward
chewing at our hearts,
claiming us
as its quiet prize