It’s a beautiful world out there. If only I could see it again.
All I can see now is differences between light and dark. Either way, it’s a dark, dark world out there. Beautiful, and dark.
I’m sitting on a bench, as far as I know. Cold and dirty under my fingertips. I can see the horizon. Though it is quickly darkening. A quick flash lights the sky. I register a clap of thunder, one that rattles my camera lenses. My vision vibrating for a few moments. Rain, perfect.
Maybe I’ll short out this time.
The first few drops hit my arms, I barely feel them. I barely feel anything at all. I lift my head to what feels like the sky. A droplet lands square on my lens, seeping through the thin metal grid that covers them. Visions gone there. I figure that this bench wasn’t sheltered by anything. Nothing to stop the sky from crying down on me.
The rain picks up. Soaking my shoulders. Slicking the copper cover plating my skull. I turn my head to each side a few times, letting the water make it’s way through the vents on my cheeks. I hear things moan and hiss within my head. Things spark and smoke. Stray drops on my forehead evaporate from my quickly overheating head. Only to be replaced by another hoard of teardrops.
My arms are twitching, my sense of hearing is dimming. Almost there. Maybe this time the weeping heavens will put me out of my misery. I slump over on the bench. I angle my face right at the sky. Letting the rain coat my camera. Dousing my speakers in a wall of water. I speak, my voice only a burble of radio transmissions and liquid.
This is it. I’m finally going to die.
I never needed those artificial drugs to get rid of an artificial problem. Nature was the best weapon the whole time. My medicine. My death.
I can’t move my limbs or my head. I only feel jolts of pain, as the rain shorts out the wires intertwined with my spinal cord. I’m not dead yet. This was surprisingly painful. Not as quiet and painless as Dormas Toxicene. Double the potency of the drug. That’s all the matters now.
My camera lenses blur, then dim entirely. I can’t feel anymore. Barely hear.
Everything is almost gone.
Until the voice of a woman catches my attention, she sounds worrisome. Horrified. The sound of rain on a tin roof ceases. Some sort of vertigo replaces it.
Her muffled voice questions me, “What are you trying to do? Fry your brain?”
“mrrblllle.” I say, a failing attempt at back-talking. I can’t even tell what I had just said. She was right though, my brain was on the verge of being freshly barbequed grey matter.
She says something else, but it is cut off by utter silence. I cannot tell if I am thinking.
I think I’m dead.

*****

My hearing is back.
Why the hell is it back? I just died for crying out loud.
“Boy, are you lucky my daddy was a electrician.” the same woman chuckles. What did she do? I bet she’s why I’m still breathing. “I cleaned out you’re insides. Water wasn’t the only thing you had in there, dude.”
“Thank -- YOU? Fzzzrt!” she really did clean me up. My transmissions were crisp and clean. I sound like a radio, brand-spankin’ new from the box. If I had eyes, they would’ve been the size of saucers.
She chuckles again, “You’re a real piece of work,” my head jerks, she’s fiddling with the hardware in the back of my head, “you’re name is Frank? Frank Miller? It says it on the little label on your head.”
I nod my head, making something sizzle. She uses a hand to steady my head. “Ouch, stay still.” she hisses. “You got some pretty nasty stuff in here, man. I think I fixed your hearing. Your responding now. So, that’s good. Oh -- my name‘s Isabella, by the way.” she jerks my head again, “Can you feel yet? I’m having trouble with that. The circuit was hanging by a thread. No wonder you didn’t know it was raining.”
Oh, I knew it was raining. I think to myself.
“Hello? Hey, can you feel anything yet?”
“Yeah. STOP -- Moving -- My -- HEAD!”
“Great!” I can hear the smile in Isabella’s voice, “Okay, Let’s see…”
We sit there in silence for a bit. I hear things ticking and ringing around my skull. Then a click!
My sight returns. Better than ever. I see the vague details of things around me. Over there in the corner is a nightstand. That bright thing on it must be a lamp. A large window on the other end of the wall facing me. I was sitting on a bed, the blanket was itchy, like wool.
I let out a burst of static. I think out of excitement.
“Could you raise you right hand? No the other right.” she laughs, “Cool, I never thought my daddy’s rambles would ever come in handy.”
I wiggle my fingers, then wave my hand in front of my face. I’m working. I don’t even remember why I wanted to break myself. I feel Isabella tightening the last of the screws, fastening the copper plate to the back of my skull.
“Viola! You better? I don’t know if you noticed, but I dropped a screwdriver on your hand a minute ago. I don’t think I can fix your sense of touch much. I’m an electrician’s daughter, not a miracle worker.” Isabella walks around the bed to kneel in front of me, using a piece of cloth to wipe off my camera lenses. Then she pops the metal grids back onto my eyes. I can’t see her very well. She looks like she has long straight hair. A round face. Some eyebrows, and lips. That’s about all I can pick out. Pretty, I guess.
“I hate to say it, but you’re really creepy. What happened to your face?” her lips curved into a frown.
I hesitate, “It’s a -- LONG -- story. Bzzzzt!”
“Does it have something to do with that plate on your head? The L.O.E.? It sounds familiar. Isn’t that a car company?”
I simply shrug.
Isabella leans in, I can see some more details of her face. A softly curved nose. Hair covers most of her face. She blinks a lot.
Her eyes narrow, she tilts up my head with a finger on my chin. One of her hands hovers under my chin, where the vent that brings in oxygen for me is. When I breathe in, my lungs sting with the tang of metal and grease. I exhale onto her hand, she wiggles her fingers underneath my chin.
“That’s where you breathe?”
I nod.
“I’m glad you didn’t get any water in there. You would’ve drowned!” she adds.
Isabella stands up, patting me on the shoulder hard enough so I feel it. “I think you should get some rest. Don’t, like, lay on your side though. It’ll block the fan thingies.” I see her silhouette putting her arms through a coat, then grabbing an umbrella. “I’m going to get some grub. What do you eat?”
“Miner -- al -- AND! -- glu -- cose -- SAL -- ine. Tzzzzt!” I reply, before rethinking my statement, “Min -- Eral! -- water.”
She raises an arm to scratch her head. “Okay then, I’ll get you some Gatorade.” She opens the door to more rain, it’s light out. She must’ve been working on me all night.
“Later!” Isabella shuts the door quietly behind her.
I move stiffly from my position sitting up. Lying on my back. The wool is still bothering me. I take in a shaky breath, my lenses fogging up momentarily.
What just happened?