Tricky treats
I merely grin to myself, taking more pleasure than I care to admit in the fact that I’ve bothered them for a change. I’m not washed up at all. I’m in charge of me, and them.
machine
Apparatus
And who shall I be then? I will still be ugly, still not like other gods. I presume I will still have this feeling of apprehension, still feeling something is waiting for me. But I will have made some progress. I will have evolved while they wallow in their petty squabbles and pursuit of pleasure. What else shall I become? What limits are there to my improvement? Perhaps I will outgrow my family if I have not already.