they told me the future is friendly

don’t hide from me, they said. it was thirty-two years from now. and they had finally figured out how to fix people (at least the people they decided were broken). i crouched low and pretended they didn’t see me. but they did. they had gloves on, and their name was written in bold letters on their glowing business cards. they told me the future is friendly. as they carried a giant net in their spinning hands. we only want to help, they insisted. i tried not to fall into their giant eyes and invisible mouths. i don’t want your help, i mustered. then ducked within myself. it won’t hurt a bit, they said. and it didn’t. they took part of me with them. and they said this wasn’t stealing. it was progress. when i awoke, there was a band aid on my brain. and a tag around my wrist. the part of me that was missing had disappeared. you won’t need that anymore, i heard them say. even though they were gone.

they were right. i didn’t need it anymore. i didn’t even remember what they had stolen. after that, i was able to live in their world more easily. travel across the city. cook for myself. have a conversation about the weather. yet sometimes when i looked up at the sky, i remembered. it’s hard to describe what it is i felt. but the whole world was pulsing through my veins. and for three whole seconds, i loved what they labelled insane.

~ An earlier version of this poem appeared in Into the Void, Issue 18.