A new store has opened right next to my house. I told them they couldn’t build there, it was my private property, you guys have to leave, but they spit in my face. No more private property, not since the water was gone for the robot girls.

The robot girls. That’s where they live, in the new store next to my house. I see them in the window, and they always wave at me, their artificial faces stretching into… something. I don’t know. Something. The robot girls are made of new wires that fell from the sky one day, mechanical rain poking eyes out, rolling like runaway meatballs on the concrete. Somebody picked up all these haystack wires and smashed them together into a terrible ball, granted it sentience and a shiny exterior.

I press my hand against their glass display window, harder harder harder, waiting for it to shatter. I want to free these robot girls, let them run into the endless sand that is Newzona. They’ll find more of a meaning in nothing than being trapped behind this storefront.

I find my feet shuffling towards the door. Just to see if there’s a human in there. Someone I can talk to about all of this, whatever “this” is. As I push my way in, I’m blasted with an artificial cold. Goosebumps all the way up my arms, and a dull brrrr of the fan like it’s chilly too. Everything is blue and steel grey, and very, very shiny. I consider walking back to my house and grabbing some sunglasses–but I don’t.

They’re all turn to look at me. And everywhere I go, their heads spin like owls, following my every move. I can’t help but feel like a criminal. These girls are built the same, with long blue torsos and arms, spindly grey legs, and great big heads. I half-expect them to twist their bodies around, hear the crunching of dead metal, and turn into awful spiders. The only difference between them is their hair. Each one has a unique style: fancy updo, high ponytail, little braids, flowing down their backs. Eyes following, always following. I’m the only person in this store.

“Hello?” I call out. I’m expecting a human, anyone anywhere, but from every single robot girl there’s a unanimous response.

Hello!

I jump back, unaware of myself. Clattering into something behind me, I find the hard floor quickly. I’m looking up now, at the ceiling fan, spinning forever. Tangled in something that only exists as a smile and a voice through metal bars, I desperately claw myself out of its fake parts. It feels like this girl is trying to consume me, bring me into her robot body because she can't stand the loneliness.

A voice from under me. “Please stop moving. Help is coming shortly.” I freeze.

I think if I move, she’ll kill me. This is what bugs do. From under me, there is a rising, and something is bringing me above with it. Off I go to heaven, this robot girl has stolen my soul and I have become a strange crab without a shell.

Except nothing happens, and I’m on my feet for some strange reason. Someone is holding my waist from behind, cold and loving. I turn around slowly, and her face meets mine. She’s not smiling. We don’t say anything.

“What are you?” I blurt out. It’s rude; I don’t mean to say it like that, but I do anyway.

“I’m here to help. Are you alright?” Her artificial voice soothes my ears, gritty through the filter like orange sand.

“I’m alright.” I shake her off of me, too violently. I might become a robot too. I take more steps back, deeper into the store.

She looks like every other robot girl here, except her hair is long and down her back in loose waves. Her face–I was too scared to look closely before–her face is neutral, painted blue lips, blocky white eyes, no nose. We stare each other down for a second, and it almost feels like falling in love. Then she turns around, calculated, and walks back towards the front of the store.

She speeds up. The store isn’t that big, nobody else is here, I’m still standing like a fool. The robot girl takes a quick glance back at me, and in her eyes I see something I think I can taste. Turns back around. Bolts out the door.

Bolts out the door. That’s not supposed to happen! All the other robot girls are shock-still, waiting for their turn to play savior. They don’t look at me anymore. They’re looking beyond, glazed over. I whip my head left to right, like the dizziness is an explanation. Nothing. There is nothing. I’m in so much trouble. Those guys probably have security cameras, and they’re watching right now. Maybe those cameras have turrets. I bolt out the door.

“Wait!” I call out. I can see her, running through the sand. “Where are you going?”

She keeps running, doesn’t look back, finds that something in the nothing. I don’t want to stop her. I want her to build a house next to mine, I want to see her come home after a long day and hear her open the door with a sigh. I want private property. I want to know why.

When things were still the way they used to be, before All of It, there were a line of little houses to the left and right of mine. A line of houses, and families, with little white dogs and growing children. I’m pretty sure they were building a school at one point, but I can’t remember it now. Where the robot girls’ store stands now, there used to be a house with a family of four, two little boys and their lovely parents. Sometimes you can hear the absence in a flickering light, in the walk on your way home.

The faster she runs, the slower time gets. We’re in Newzona, and there’s only desert. We’re in the rainforest, and the fat droplets of water are glittering on her outsides, buzzing in her wires. We’re in my house, we’re in the store, we’re in the Great Before. We’re in my neighbor’s perfect backyard. And I stop.

I watch her go. Every step she takes rearranges the atomic structure of the universe, flips it all upside down, introduces a million new colors, makes my eyes close and my eyelids clear so I won’t miss any of it. She turns into an ink-drawing, then a simple sketch, then a few lines. Nothing and everything all at once. There is so much light. I should’ve brought my sunglasses; here comes a great darkness.

I wake up on my back in my house, spread like a starfish–all my bones feel like crushed pottery. I don’t have any furniture, it’s just me and my grimy tiled floor, and a heavy weight on my chest. It blankets me, whispers in my ear, tells me to stay forever. It sounds beautifully mechanical, like a tinkling little music box. The back of my head is stuck to the ground.

I try not to think about that robot girl, or her big head, or her tricky dark chocolate hair. Seventy percent cocoa, let her melt in your mouth, feel the way she rolls into your teeth. When the light hit her at a certain angle, she was translucent. I imagined her all along because I was too lonely to admit it. You can’t truly understand someone unless you become them, and even then it’s not enough. I press myself against her skin like maybe we’ll combine and the wires inside us will tangle, and only then will I feel whole again. But I can’t get past her barrier, so we’re lying there, two washed-up slimy fish. There’s nothing divine about either of us; I just want to feel special.

I just want to be special.