The Monster

Word Count: 384

The Monster

James fell back against the floor, the gun spilling out of his hand. There in the doorway stood his… wife. She stood over him, stared down at him, her face displaying no emotion; part of the skin over her cheek was peeled away, thanks to the force of the round that lay buried in her hard plastic cheek.

She stepped into the room, the small bathroom of their apartment. Their apartment that they lived together in. The same shower, that they sometimes would shower together in. If he looked out the door, he could see the bedroom they had slept together in, for all of these years.

“Why do you run away?” she asked, her voice almost the same as it was; but he could tell the difference. She was different now, an alien program lying somewhere in her mechanical brain. “Why did you shoot me, James?”

“Goddamnit. Stop talking,” whimpered James Conrad. His eyes looked down, at the knife in her hand, glittering in the fluorescent light. She stepped forward, her voice full of the emotion that her face lacked.

“James, honey, you’re bleeding. Who did that to you?” She referred to the slash she herself made, going from his shoulder down to the middle of his chest. It hurt, but James was running on enough adrenaline to keep himself going.

“James, what am I doing?” she asked, reaching to grab his pajama shirt. He attempted to retreat further into the bathroom, heading towards the shower, illuminated with a soft fluorescent blue. Her hand grabbed his pajama shirt, and with force she pushed him against the back of the shower, the motion-sensors automatically activating and showering the two. It’s too bad she was shock-resistant. “James, please, talk to me,” she said with a pleading voice.

The knife raised in the shower. “You monster!” he screamed at her.

“James, why would you say that? I'm your wife. Do you really think I'm a monster?”

The knife came down. Blood showered the stall, mingling with the water down the drain.

"Am I a monster?”

All sensation started to fade. He could only look up at the face of the machine, which had his wife's ghost somewhere in there. Or did it?

“Am I a monster?”

Yes, he thought before the blackness took him.

“Am I…”