I type into the homunculus of steel;
Sifted and grafted from the earth.
It glints silver and black,
Like the stars and darkness it once came from–
Blinking in and out of existence.
The stand has been like that for ages.
I make a note to replace it soon.
It’s the color of the sky outside the steel roof.
The stand keeps blinking.
I don’t realize the blue’s turned black.
The screen turns black.
The stand doesn’t turn back on.
The room turns black.
I sit for an eternity,
Waiting for my eyes to adjust.
The blinds were down.
I grope my way to the window.
I find the beaded rope,
And I pull;
Once, twice, thrice.
Silver spills into the room;
The black turns moonlit blue.
The stars blink at me,
Like they always have.
The steel in my room glints in the starlight,
But that’s all it is.
There’s no life to it,
No whirs or hums–
No flashing lights or seductive words.
The homunculus is dead.
It was never alive.
Olivia Park is a high school student who loves storytelling. She enjoys writing poetry, short stories, and essays that explore themes of identity and the human experience. Olivia has been recognized in school literary magazines and local competitions. When not writing, she finds inspiration in art, music, and nature.