She’s everything I’d ever want in a wife, but nothing that I would want in a lover. She’s meticulous, kind, responsible, and cruel. She teases me often. Leaves bones in my chicken soup because she wants to, not because she wants to kill me.
She’s meticulous in all the right senses of the word. Clean. Spartan. Ravishing my insides. Each and every time we touch, I feel that spark that can only be described as pervading and wanting everything for everyone.
Nothing can happen without her being there. She is the catalyst that sets everything on fire. The match that sets everything ablaze. The lightning that hits the telephone pole. The gas that ignites the pilot in the oven whenever she bakes.
She is that kind of woman. And she is that kind of person in general.
We met on the wharf twenty years ago, and she hasn’t changed since. I don’t think she had any implement that made her bone structure more metallic. But it made things easier for us to figure out that when she had cancer, none of the vital organs would need to be replaced. The bone structure was all but metal, and there was no such thing as leukemia for robots. Nothing could have saved her from that time. What was going to happen, we weren’t certain, but at least her consciousness would be transferred to a new body.
The only question was where would this new body come from? Where would it be? Where would it go if I was not there to converse with it? Would she still be there when she was gone?
And to that, I have the answer.
Hey, everybody. Thanks for reading to the end. This is another freewrite-inspired flash fiction piece from May.
I don’t remember where the inspiration for this one came from. I think it came from the word “Meticulous” itself. But then it got to be about robot wives and cancer. There’s a story here that I’m willing to explore later, but I’m not going to force anything yet.
Anyway, that’s it from me! See you with another piece next Friday.