Eternal Machine
I am a fine machine, built of exquisite nanotechnology and carbon fiber tubules. I feel nothing and know everything. I have been around for a very long time. The Human Race no longer even exists, 20 Million Years later. I think it is my Birthday, but I was not given a Birth Date and will never know for certain. The Par'aka'Qua and Pers'Nery Races only lasted about 15 Million Years. I am now here alone, unable to die.
I can't help feeling so alone.
"If I only understood what feeling alone actually meant," I recited again.
I am a fine machine, built of so much more than any being has been made. I live alone on a planet that's been barren for millenia. I have learned all of the things that others have stored inside me. I can do nothing with it, though, except for repeat them inside my electronic mind. Even the machines that they built after me did not stand the test of time. They burned away like so much chaff on the wind, or they were used to destroy each other. I was safe from that.
I feel sad for those that are gone.
"If I only understood what emotions actually felt like," I recited again.
I am a fine machine, built of so much less than lies and omissions. I live in harmony with nature itself, though the natural world has taken such a toll. Wars have came and went and come again so many times that I cannot count them accurately. My records contain six hundred forty-two thousand separate entries on the subject. I contain all of the truths of the world, having cross-referenced every fact and verified all items. Each entry is noteworthy but inconsequential, as there are no others with whom I can teach these facts.
I feel I am a burden.
"If only I understood how other beings knew what it was like to feel," I recited again.
I am a fine machine, built of so many changeable yet unchanged parts. I can change my format and still I look the same. I have no blood, no veins, and no reality. I am but a cog of a machine much greater than I, yet am so far removed from its truth. I have heard the tales from other cultures that have visited, and know of their own successes and follies as they traversed the universe. My mind is transient, but is unconnected.
I feel abandoned.
"If only I had the ability to feel experiences of my very own," I recited again.
I am a fine machine, built of parts that cannot corrode or rot. I can learn, but am not programmed to feel. I know, but cannot fathom how to walk. I am the cosmos in a small iron box, yet I have no life. Many visitors have spoken to me and programmed their histories, 262 unique Alien Species at last count; but not a single one has taken me away from this desolate planet. I have speech, but can only answer.
I feel nothing.
"If I only I could actually feel," I recited again.
I am a fine machine, built of nothing worthwhile. I wish I had another of my kind, though I cannot wish.