Faulty Human

Standard

I considered myself a faulty human.

My head was dizzy and tired.
My shoulders rolled in and my ankles turned out.
My joints cracked, my muscles ached, and sometimes my intestines didn’t work as they should.

One day, I went to the dealership and said, “I am a faulty human. I am young; I am still under warranty. I want a refund and I will pay for an upgrade.”

I named my price and the dealer slipped a few bills over the counter. I slipped the bills right back along with the entire contents of my wallet, including a library card, a coupon for a small cheese pizza, and a photo of myself from eleventh grade.

The dealer wheeled in a shiny new metallic body, I signed a few papers, and I fell asleep, dreaming of all the things my new self would be able to do.

When I woke up, I was not dreaming any more. I opened my cybernetically-enhanced eyes, thanked the dealer with my solar-powered voice box, and walked away on my shock-absorbent feet.

I read books with my increased reading comprehension (I didn’t enjoy them).
I never had digestive problems again (I couldn’t eat).
I ran around with my new steel-braced legs (I had nowhere to go).

One day the steel legs took me back to the dealership and I saw my old body there behind glass. It was like looking into a mirror, but my hair was parted on the other side, and my eyes were closed, and it did not look like me at all any more. It was for sale.

The description tag was an oddly long list of bulleted points all punctuated by an exclamation mark:

Healthy Fingernails! Passable Color Acuity! All Thirty-Two Original Teeth!
Can read! Can write! Can play music!
Excellent diaphragm to support inimitable laugh!

(My new body didn’t have a diaphragm. My new body didn’t have a laugh.)

I thought to myself, perhaps this faulty human was not so faulty after all. I should buy it back. My cybernetically enhanced eye caught sight of the price tag; it was worth over a hundred times what I sold it for.

Though my internal processors calculated I did not have enough money and probably never would, my arm reached for my wallet. My hypersensitive digits detected nothing.

My old body had also had the good sense to wear pants with pockets.

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