Entry 0080: Journal Fragment Found From Missing Astronaut

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7-inch: You & You by DNA

2016 Superior Viaduct SV098

Favorite Track: You & You

 

Photographs of two kids stare up at me. One of the brats is smiling. I blot out their eyes unable to take the accusation. One of them was me but I can no longer tell. I would say that I could feel the mutations in my cellular structure, however, that wouldn’t be exactly the truth. I can intuit it. Like when you feel a pair of eyes watching you. Imagine a billion eyes bubbling around my organs, reproducing at a rate I can’t even write down. I’m past the point of urination now, which the scientist said is one of the last steps. I’m not sure what she said would happen to my wastes. Something gross and recyclable. She laughed when I asked if it would fall off. It wasn’t getting much use in the last ten years until after that surgery. Then it was overused. Apparently, humans have been waiting for something not human.

It has become very difficult to record my thoughts: to try and capture the memories that I am losing one by one. Each morning they collect at the shower drain with clumps of my hair. I kick them aside and shave carefully in areas I’ve never shaved before. What am I even trying to write down here? Just my last thoughts about being human, I guess. What are they though? I no longer care what the definition of human is. I would even go as far as to suggest there isn’t a definition. Just a concept for the politicians and ad men to sell you.

My dreams become my new memories. I vaguely recall one from this morning. I was a kid playing baseball, shortstop. We were losing. The other team wore grey uniforms with crimson socks and a logo eerily similar to a real franchise. I was wearing white that was not streaked with brown dirt. We had one out and the boy at the bat had double both previous times. He hit it right to me and my clumsy self caught the grounder, threw it to second who tagged the runner then whipped it so hard the first basemen cried over the umpire. But we had one last up to bat to stage a comeback.

We failed but I won the game ball for the double play. Coach and team mates cheered and hugged me like we won a trophy. And all I could think was that I didn’t feel human then. Why celebrate automatic reflexes? What a strange ritual to enact under the burning sun and in the rough dirt? We have play acted for so long. What will I do now that I have finally grown up?

I pin the photograph to the wall of my bedroom next to the mirror I shattered. I can see myself ten billion times from ten billion angles. You and you, little ants, will know me when you see me. By then, I will have made first contact.

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