I’ve lived so many years in fear, I can hardly remember a time without.

I know such a time existed, however. My father did his best to protect me. Unfortunately for me now, that protection came in the form of ignorance. I didn’t even know he was trying to protect me, because I didn’t know there was anything I needed to be protected from.

We had no television. All the books in the house were carefully selected, though I hadn’t known that at the time. I lived my life, carefree and happy, until the day trouble came and broke down our door.

We had a small, cozy house, but a lot of land. The winters were my favorite times, because their would be a warm fire in the fireplace and fresh snow to play in. He read me stories every night, but storytime was always better in the winter.

Winter would always have a special place in my heart. But the exact place in my heart would change overtime, because alongside memories of playing in snow and sitting by the fire now lies a memory of running in that same snow until I’m frozen to the bones and the deafening sound of gunfire.

I know more about what happened, now. I have a general picture, at least, but some of the details are foggy. Books about it all aren’t rare if you can find a library, but they’re definitely hard to keep when you have to leave in a hurry. Books, unfortunately, aren’t a priority when you’re in a post-android takeover dystopian story.

Now, I’m hiding in an small, wooden house with all of the parts I’d managed to salvage from the remains of the robots I’d fought earlier. Something happened here, I can tell — the holes in the roof and gaps in the walls could have been caused naturally by age, but the long-dead corpse slumped against the wall opposite me and the blood on the wood behind him told a different story.

I ignore the corpse. I’d seen worse; this is one of the better places I’ve had to stay since the death of my father. Instead, I scavenge the place for something to use to tend to my wounds. Luckily, I manage find something and I sit back down.

I take off the makeshift bandage I’d hurriedly made for my arm earlier on and examine the wound closely for the first time. I grimace; it’s worse than any wounds I’d had until now.

Then I frown and look closer, spotting something. I freeze, eyes widening as I notice what they are.

No wonder father had never told me about the destruction of the outside world. No wonder he’d never told me about the robots.

I’m one of them.

——————

(this doesn’t quite match the prompt, since it doesn’t actually continue it beyond what the prompt gave. (Also, the character has blood, which the prompt says she shouldn’t have.) Really, I worked backwards instead, giving backstory but leaving at the same point instead of continuing the story. I probably had more in mind when I first wrote this, but a lot of time passed and so the second half kind of fell flat, in my opinion. Anyway. Let me know what you guys think!)

last edited: Jan 16, 22