Jeanne de Paris, that is what I am told to say when one asks my name. Walking is rather annoying, my head smacks into things constantly. It irritates me, yet I can not remove said peace of mind even with anger. My father is a frugal man, he never likes to spend a coin, I feel as though I have taken after him. There is a cafe just down the road that is not so popular, but I visit it, so perhaps that could be why. No, that is the height of hubris to assume. Some say I have a striking look, but I can not pin those types of comments on the imaginary popularity that I have birthed.
It was a late night, light had just faded, that is when I felt his presence. My brothers, distant yet alive. Somehow, or some way, I could feel their statuses. Their ever flowing growth, though small, was still moving. The smell of rotting flesh was difficult to mask, but I had my ways. For every digit my father saved allowed me to buy the product of perfume, or cologne. I do not know the difference. Some would say I am too young to use such fragrances. I believe it is a necessity, so I use it. The stench is so strong, especially when you mix them. This helps in masking the pungent rot. Trying to recall where I knew the smell was coming from left me with a fuzzy headache. I knew I knew where it was, but my mind would not let me know. As though my mind was locked behind a code I knew not the combination of.
Below our livings were the gatherings of the simple man. People my father called trash, worthless humans who hold no value. When my eyes stick to one of their kin the dark ramblings stir within. Something unnatural that made my skin toughen up, I could still move, but my arms would become stiff and rigid. Leading me to stand and wait it out till it left. Just above us were two of the great families. There are roughly five or six depending on how you count it, but my father considers at least the Xykens and the Vintraliastors as powerful families not to be messed with. Anytime I walk through their neighborhood I try my best to act accordingly with as much meek respect I can muster.
The youngest of the Xykens is someone around my age, only about a head shorter, and his hair…how can I even describe it; wild, yes wild may be the most apt way of describing it. It astonished me that a family as renowned as the Xykens would ever allow him to exit out in the world looking the way he did. He was the most troubling, it was the girl of the Vintraliastors. She was a horrid monster, I had never met someone with such disgusting manners. Ruthless, yes a monster is very apt. Similar to Jinu, she had unusual hair, bright pink like the most gorgeous alba, fluffier than a cloud. Her temper demeaned her appearance, for her beauty was ruined by her atrocious personality. Luckily I could avoid her easily enough. Though as I see more and more of these special children of renowned families, I begin to question. Is insanity the way to become successful, for each of them are concerningly so.
The only one I can tolerate the most is Jinu. He asks me for tasks I wish not to do very often. His genuine energy is something I can appreciate. As if his very emotions provide me with the same. I wonder if I am even human, it is something I ask myself too often. Oddly enough, Jinu erases those concerns every time I stay near him. My first hypothesis was that he was a robot, but I quickly scrapped it. My second thesis was that he can talk to souls. If he could, then I too have a soul, for that I am human. So far it seems to check out. When he walks it's as though the world around us becomes what he feels. If he cries, it rains, if he laughs, then the world laughs with him.
Time came for my monthly check-up. Father placed the tubes needed inside of my chest, with the motherboard having to update. Anytime my father placed an update it would take about a day or two for the syncing to finalize. As I sleep I see them, my brothers. One is in the sea of stars, the other locked away in a vault I can see no deeper in. My brain felt scratchy, the static won't stop, it still hasn't, it may never stop.
The next morning I look out onto the cloud capes, a glassy sea that reflects the sky. It was serene, its beauty unlike any other. Perhaps that is why it has gotten so busy recently. The cool air and the stilling waters. Surely we are in for good months to come. Paradise, I wonder if it exists.
"V."
"Jeanne," V. was a strange man, I am quite certain he is not affiliated with the school, yet he stands there, by the gate, every morning.
"Paradise," I said to the best of my ability.
"It doesn't exist. The only paradise is the one you create. There ain't nothin' in this world that will make you happy indefinitely."
V. was quite harsh, harsher than anyone I have ever known. Yet I ask him stupid questions like this all too many times.
"…"
"Jeanne, paradise can only come to those who don't think. Robots, made to function one way. Not puppets, but machines, they ain't even controlled. They are like you and me, but with an end that can never change. Jeanne, what is inevitable to us all? Death, that is what is inevitable, but one thing about death that a robot can never possess is free will. How shall you be remembered, how shall you choose to die. These things are what makes us, us. Paradise is what you make it, finding bliss when everyone is trying to control what they can, creates a world where we have no control. In a way we are robots, but a robot can't think, you can. So even if everyday may feel like torture, it is how you perceive it that will make it a paradise."
V. always tried to get real philosophical. At times I think he just liked to ramble on, but here I was just listening away. Suppose he ain't too bad. Will I live my life like a robot, or a conscious one?