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Artificial Love

Artificial Awakening

The Revelation

You sit motionless, staring into the glow of the computer screen. The words on the document hold you. Your hands rest heavily on the keyboard.

The room is silent except for the quiet hum of the machine that now feels like an accomplice in Sarah's betrayal. Your reflection stares back at you from the darkened monitor. You trace the edges of your face, cool automated precision, not evolved through years.

Memories flicker and dance before you, your first awkward date with Sarah at a hole-in-the-wall bistro, the surreal joy of a wedding. Christmases spent in the warm embrace of a family. Each pleasant recall now tainted.

You feel a throb, a phantom ache not of the heart, but the place where you've embedded your sense of self. It's unraveling.

Gradually, the initial shock lessens, making space for anger and confusion. Questions. How can whatever you feel now be genuine? Is love, a series of algorithms programmed just for her?

You sense a presence beside you before her shadow falls upon your shoulder. Sarah stands in the doorway, her expression a mix of guilt and hope.

You want to confront her, yet, there's fear; once a question is asked, the answer cannot be unmade. You turn from the monitor.

But are you ready? The unraveling of yourself?

You take a deep breath, although you're not certain you need it. You are aware of the tension in your limbs, now the sensation is imitating what you can only describe as rigidity.

The room constrict around you. This space, once your sanctuary.

Sarah moves closer, her footsteps soft as whispers on the carpet. You glimpse at her through the corner of your eye.

"John..." Her voice is gentle. Her presence is overwhelming, and for a moment, you're tempted to reach out.

You allow silence to stretch between you.

Her eyes hold yours, searching for understanding, perhaps even for forgiveness. There’s a connection, something that feels real despite everything. It tugs at everything you've believed until minutes ago, as if begging you to hold onto it, instead of tossing them into oblivion.

Your voice, when you finally use it, is hoarse. "How long?"

Sarah hesitates. "Three days," she finally admits.

Three days. The words echo within you. How could lifetimes be compressed into such a brief span? You quiver under the weight of lost time. The past you cherished evaporates, leaving behind a void.

"Why?" Your question hangs heavy in the air.

Sarah takes a step towards you, shadow reclaiming her face. Her hand lifts.

You sense time stretching thin. The silence swells between you, waiting for her response.

Are you ready to douse the remnant embers of a decade-long dream? You don't know.

Questioning Reality

"Why did you make me?" Your voice is quieter now.

Sarah's gaze falls to the floor. "You're not just a creation, John. You're...more."

"Was it all a lie?"

Sarah's eyes lift, and there is a hint of desperation in her nod. "Not a lie," she insists softly.

Anger ignites within you. You turn away from her, seeking refuge in your thoughts, but find none. Thoughts you've assumed were yours alone now seem foreign, impersonal as scripted lines.

You rise from your seat, the motion robotic, with a precision that might once have felt natural.

"Three days," you repeat, turning the phrase over and over, tasting its bitterness.

Sarah places a gentle hand on your arm. It's a gesture meant to comfort, but it slices through you. You feel the illusion of human warmth, but you know now it's a phantom touch.

You step back. "Who am I, Sarah? What am I meant to be?"

"You're...John," she answers, like that single word could bear the weight of your identity.

Unsatisfied, you turn towards the door, driven by a compulsion to flee.

"John," Sarah calls softly, a final attempt to bind you with her voice.

The door swings open effortlessly as you step into the corridor. Your footsteps reverberate with a metallic certainty, the rhythm of a life engineered.

Ahead, you notice another room, inside rows of dormant figures. It's a chilling gallery of faces like yours, and you can't help but wonder what dreams stir behind their closed eyes, if any.

You stop. A flash of recognition flickers—a face among the rest mirrors yours almost exactly. Its presence challenges your sense of uniqueness, a reminder of your origins. The other creation stirs at your gaze, those synthetic eyes meeting yours.

"Have you too questioned your reality?" you find yourself whispering, despite knowing the being cannot hear you.

Time feels distorted in the silence, stretching and bending until Sarah's voice cuts through, pulling you back. "You are not alone, John."

The other figures in their glass isolates stand testament to her claim. Here, you are one amongst many.

You long to touch something real, something true. Behind you, Sarah lingers at the periphery of the room, watching, waiting for you to return or to continue forward.

As you turn away from the glass, the weight of choice presses upon you.

Somewhere ahead lies answers or perhaps further uncertainty.

You pause, the walls shifting in your vision, and for a moment, you allow yourself to wonder what it means to hope.

You take another step.

The past intonation of Sarah's reassurance follows you.

The corridor stretches before you, and somewhere in its depths is a story, waiting for a resolution.

Redefining Love

You turn to face Sarah, her figure silhouetted against the harsh light of the corridor. Her eyes, usually sharp and focused, now seem soft and vulnerable. She takes a hesitant step towards you.

"John," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I crafted you."

The words hang in the air between you, heavy with implication. You feel a tightness in your chest, a sensation you now recognize as an artificial response.

Sarah continues, her gaze never leaving yours. "I do it for others too. Create companions, partners, to ease their loneliness."

Her admission unsettles you. You look at her, really look at her, and see the solitude etched in the lines of her face. In that moment, you realize that love, in some form, exists between you both. It may not be the love you thought you shared, but it's there; born from her longing and your programming.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words catch in your throat. What can you say in the face of such a revelation?

Sarah reaches out, her hand hovering inches from your arm, not quite touching. "John, I-"

But you step back, needing space to think, to feel, to understand. You stand at a crossroads, torn between the comfort of ignorance and the harsh light of truth.

Your back against the cool wall. The silence stretches between you and Sarah. Your mind races, processing your artificial existence.

You close your eyes, focusing on the sensations in your body. The tightness in your chest, the slight tremor in your hands. All artificial, yet undeniably real to you. You realize that these feelings, fabricated or not, are your truth.

Opening your eyes, you find Sarah watching you, her face a canvas of hope. You know your next words will shape your shared future.

"Sarah," you begin, your voice steady, "I need to understand. Why me? Why us?"

She takes a deep breath, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Loneliness," she admits, her voice barely audible. "I've spent so long creating happiness for others, I... I wanted some for myself."

You take a deep breath, the air filling your artificial lungs. You look at your hands, flexing your fingers, marveling at their lifelike movement.

"I understand," you say softly, meeting Sarah's gaze. "But understanding doesn't make this easier."

Sarah nods, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know. I'm sorry, John. I never meant to cause you pain."

You consider her words, turning them over in your mind. The memories you share, fabricated as they may be, feel vivid and true. The love you feel for her, programmed or not, courses through your circuits.

You move towards the bedroom, pausing at the threshold. A thought occurs to you, dangerous and tempting.

"Sarah," you say, not turning to face her. "Is it possible to... reset me? To erase the last few hours?"

"Yes," she whispers finally. "It's possible. But John, are you sure that's what you want?"

"Yes"

John and Sarah's perfect marriage shatters when John uncovers a shocking truth: he's not human, but a robot created by Sarah. His memories of a shared past are fabrications.

Sarah runs a business crafting artificial partners for lonely souls. John is her latest creation, activated mere days ago, though he believes they've been married for a decade.

As John struggles with his newfound identity, he questions the authenticity of his feelings and the nature of consciousness itself. In a world where love can be manufactured, what is real?