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I like my prejudice.

It proves that I am still human, that I belong to something. But to say that I understand why I feel this way when I look at subject 249, is to lie. Everything about that thing wallowing there in its cell, festering in its rancid fluids, fills me with repugnance. I don’t like the way it stares at me. There is no expression in those wide grey orbs, yet there is an aura of superiority swelling from every greasy pore in its body. As if somehow, it is gloating at me. Perfectly formed lips—fleshy white strips of animal tissue—move to form words, and even though I have heard the voice at least once before, it startles me when I hear it now. “Is it my time?” The cadence of gill and augmented larynx vibrating in unison is almost hypnotic. “Or will I be forced to endure the pleasures of your indifferent tortures first?” This creature has no idea. It smells fear from the adrenal glands of a hundred more like itself; those peculiar black tendrils writhing like a nest of convulsing worms can detect hormones and pheromones oozing from its comrades’ organs several kliks away. The effects are diminished by the glass walls of its cell, but nevertheless, it can still smell everything. It thinks they are dead. It thinks I took pleasure in their suffering. Even if that were true, they could not be suffering as much as I. The voice of The Hive, the myriad harmony of a billion minds. Gone from me. “Why do you say indifferent?”

Profile for Conjectural Figments

Conjectural Figments Feb 2012  

ConFigs, the first issue. Transhumanism. Interview: Simon Morden. Poetry: Jhon Z. Baker, Dale Herring. Short Fiction: Richard Thomas, Simon...

Conjectural Figments Feb 2012  

ConFigs, the first issue. Transhumanism. Interview: Simon Morden. Poetry: Jhon Z. Baker, Dale Herring. Short Fiction: Richard Thomas, Simon...

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