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I am a creation called Perfection. I was designed to so that when humanity looked at me, they saw no flaws. And if you talk to me, you won’t see any in the way I talk either. That’s not an overnight process. It took twenty years to perfect my entire system. The group who came together to create me, the Makers, do not see a second of that wasted and they take great pride in their final result.
I have recently been installed in a high school to create my connection to the world you see, live, and breathe. I was told to fit in; to blend into a life I don’t remember. It’s not easy when your mind works as someone who is run like a computer; knowing information that most people spend their entire lives trying to learn. I’ve been programmed to read people so well that it verges on the edge of reading minds. How do I blend in with that kind of ability? And that’s only the beginning of what I know.
I shouldn’t be questioning myself. I was created to do things without question or hesitation. Yet here I stand wondering, hesitating. Does that mean there is a flaw? Has something go wrong that Makers don’t know about? I am at the entrance of this high school, looking in, and watching the swarms of people walk around. I try to remember why I am here.
Twenty-five years ago someone like me did this very thing. They infiltrated a school and searched through the people to find someone to carry on the Makers’ plan. Two years later I was selected and extracted from the school. For three years they tested my mental and physical abilities, determining if I was the right choice. If I hadn’t been, they would have disposed of me. Somehow I passed their tests and the next twenty years is lost to me. I have no memories of it. They told me it that it was a long and lengthy idea, but I turned out to be more than worth it. I exceeded their expectations. If you look at me you wouldn’t ever guess that I am over forty years old. To the outer eye I am meant to look anywhere from seventeen to nineteen. Surprisingly, despite the excellent end result, time to create me had been short. After I had been selected and deemed worthy, their original Perfection collapsed and they couldn’t bring him back.
They refused to tell me anything but I know that the stress of his creation overloaded him and caused him to fail. When I think about it now, I remember he had a hesitation about taking me in and I always wondered why. Now I know. While the Makers look at me and think everything is fine, I’m a freak. I’m a combination of nature and man-made machinery. I was born normally and grew up for seventeen years like you should. My memories before my creation are scrambled and barely exist. From what I can gather, I was what you call a nerd, apparently one of the biggest ones around.
After my creation, the Makers immediately showed me a picture of my old self. In the picture I stand stark naked and while my face showed no emotion, my eyes scream out with fear and horror. I remember none of those emotions. I believe they erased them. Everything about my form yelled, imperfection. My torso was far too short while my arms and legs long enough for an ape. My neck was bent at a slight angle and the shape of my face was off. It’s almost as if God had gotten distracted while shaping it. Just looking at the hundreds of pimples covering my skin made me shy away and the blotches shading my skin reeked of poor health. That picture is burned into my brain and every time I pass a mirror I see the current me and the old one side by side. Gathering by the looks the high school kids are giving me, I now look nothing even close to the old me.
As I begin to walk down the hall I feel my hips sway with precision and my feet step down lightly, like a professional dancer. My head is high and I can feel every small muscle in my body toned and moving with each step I make. I walk as if I fear nothing, but I fear them. All of them. Every single person around me is a threat to what I am. They see perfection. But what am I really?
Just another machine.
Apparently she transferred from some weird foreign school. I think anyone could have guessed that just by looking at her. She just doesn’t look anything like an American. I look around and watch the faces of the students around me. The guys, all of them, even the ones considered to be ‘cool’, are standing watching her like she’s from another planet. Who knows, maybe she is.
The girls are too amazed to even be jealous right now and I almost laugh as I watch shock cause many mouths to drop. I look back towards her as she continues down the hall, closer and closer. It’s like watching something computer generated. Nothing about her is flawed or out of place. She shakes her hair back over her shoulder and even then, nothing falters. She looks straight ahead without giving the smallest glance to the side.
While most people would say she thinks she is too good for the rest of us, I don’t pick that up on her. Nothing about her says she is a snob who has plans to become the social queen. If anything, she doesn’t even care. I wonder who she really is. Now she’s almost level with me, leaving a wake of dazed people behind her. This feels like one of those cheesy movies. She has reached me and right when I think she is about to continue past, her perfect walk pauses for the smallest fraction of a second and her eyes meet mine. While they are the most beautiful hazel I have ever seen it’s not the color that catches me, it’s the look in them. It was like watching a brief slideshow. Hesitation, fear, confusion, and at the same time, a dark blankness, consume her glance.
Why do I get the feeling she didn’t mean to let that happen?
The entire school is abuzz with her arrival. Today is her first day and its lunch period now. I think everyone has seen her and that’s all anyone can talk about right now. I only saw a quick glimpse of her back as she walked into a classroom. Even then I could tell she wasn’t normal. She entered the lunchroom five minutes ago and I was able to really see her for the first time. She gives me the oddest feeling. Like, when you wake up and just know right away that it won’t be the greatest day? It’s kind of like that with her.
When I look at her I see all the perfection, yet I don’t think that’s what it is. I couldn’t say why for the life of me. The girls would say I’m just jealous. They probably are too, so they aren’t ones to talk. Her obvious beauty really doesn’t intimidate me as much as you would think. It’s something else about her. I want to introduce myself because I know for a fact that no one has, except I feel like I’m held back by something. I sweep the room and eye people’s faces as they watch her.
When I look back to her she is watching me. Even though she is on the other side of the room, I still feel the intensity of her stare. All I’m capable of doing is stare back. I seem to have lost the ability to look away. As we sit there with lock eyes I get this funny feeling in the pit of my stomach.
I have a feeling she’s selecting me.