And now they’re touching my body.
You reassure me: they’re being strictly professional. It’s normal. If they don’t do this, we will die.
I don't care. I know it's purely platonic and I still hate it. I hate everything about them, I hate the system, I hate how they weren't reassigned away from me, I hate seeing their stupid blank face. I don’t want them to be inspecting anything about me. I want them to touch my heart rate and feel nothing and walk away.
“NO!” And my body flops and spasms across the ground like a wet fish.
Marigold screams. Process screams and pulls me away, holds me tight.
I don’t want to scare off Process, especially as you lean into the touch, but it got me an inch away from them, so I try it again. “BAD!” And I sigh internally, because I was trying to say ‘you are a bad person’, but my body might be actually failing so what can I even do?
Everyone gets the hint and steps away from me. Nobody knows what to do.
One of us (the line is growing thinner) is fantasizing about killing them. Just squishing our thumbs into their stupid eye sockets. Do they even have eye holes? Haha. Hahaha. What if they were even better than me about that?
But it all starts making me feel sick, because I don’t really want to be one of those revenge-seeking people. I just want to live the rest of my life in a cute little house, wearing my cute little clothes.
That's why I decide that I will simply die.