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On This Day
By ralst

Anniversaries are such trivial thing; birthdays, wedding, deaths, are just a part of life. Yet somehow we are supposed to revere them, with gifts or grief, just because a planet, in a distant solar system, has managed to rotate around its star. The logic has always escaped me, just as so much of the life I'm expected to lead has fallen through my grasp.


But on this day, like no other, the loneliness and despair of my new life returns to torment me. Five years ago, according to an outdated calendar, I experienced my first truly individual thought. No voices in my head, no warmth of belonging, just a void of unspeakable terror and a single word reverberating throughout my brain:


Those days, and months, following my imprisonment within humanity are a time I have banished from my memory. A time of such grief and confusion. A time when I truly wanted to die. Yet slowly, against my will and my wishes, humanity claimed me for one of its own.

A human, but not quite.

A woman, but never really a woman.

A friend, but only on their terms.

A lover, but never an equal.

On this day I allow myself to remember what I once was; a prisoner to the borg, with no thoughts of her own, no desires, no wants, no disappointments. A life that was never lived.

But -- oh, that word again, but also a being without fear, or pain, or loss, or shame. A being who didn't know how to question its existence. A being sure in its purpose and right. Not a confused mess of indecision and other people's expectations.

On this day, like no other, I allow myself to remember:

My life was better as a drone.

The End

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