My Cardboard Balcony

A Cheap Red Card by Belinda Roddie A cheap red card in the shape of a heart was all that Bobby had to offer Kim at the coffee shop after a slow start to his morning shift. Somehow, on a whim, he grabbed the paper and the scissors from the back room, snipping away until he had made a proper symbol of love. Numb, he watched as Kim unfolded it. Slowly, she sipped her coffee, and Bobby's blood turned to frost in his veins. She stood up and left without another word. Bobby's eyes burned, his stomach aching, as he was bereft of any answers, whether good or bad, and the poor barista went home quite sad.

I am the reproductive offspring of artificial intelligence and a sad mother, who cradled a broken robot in her arms at the end of the world, who kissed its head and wept until the tears filled a small room, who whispered all her secrets to a processor that was no longer processing. I don't walk; I float. I run code, and I am immortal. I have not seen my mother since I emerged from her womb, fully uploaded.