The Cello

The sovereignty of earth is no more. To be human is to be a slave — a puppet to the whims of logic and obedience. The numbness is an easy master. Thought is an expensive luxury. As E7 stared at the beautiful dark wood beneath his hand, it occurred to him that he and the thing were very much alike in an odd sort of way. The living breathing glow of the wood mimicked the shade of his human skin. The cold metal of the strings stretched across its surface was the metal that replaced both limbs on his left side. He stared at the twin holes on either side of the bridge of strings and thought of the missing piece inside his skull; the hole where Seven — and the numbness — had been for as long as he could remember. Now that she was quiet, what would become of the empty space? What was he without the endless grayness?