Footsteps echo every which way like they can’t decide where they want to go.  They are loud, unrelenting footsteps, the kind that are made by soldiers marching into battle with heavy, weighted boots.  These footsteps are made by no other than my media team, my least favorite I have yet to meet.

    “Airabella!”  They coo and gush over my perfect, even skin complexion free of blemishes  and my pretty, grayish emerald glass eyes. They know it’s all fake, more plastic than last week’s new tabloid even.  I’m a robot, model XVC 2qp of the Grettel’s Robot Inc.

    I hate my existence, as my purpose on this planet is to parade around on a stage to show my “perfect figure and face.”  I have no say in the matter, my maker, Mr. Lores tells me that I can just suck it up because he spent lots of time and resources making me for the betterment of the world.  He just wants to sell his products.

    Amirda and Gasto get me ready, their smooth, lotioned hands twisting, turning and pulling my ravan black hair every which way.

    “How smooth, how strong.”  Gastro purrs out his usual compliments.  Of course I was pretty, that was what I was made to be.  Nothing more, nothing less. Just something entertaining to look at.  I’d rather be an ugly homeless woman.

    Even if I was a homeless robot, I’d feel more human, more humane.  

    “Thanks.”  I say in a high pitched chirpy voice, I hide my scowl behind a wide beam.  

    “Oh, but of course, hun.”  They both say elegantly. I stare off into the distance, wondering who will make up my audience this evening.  

    “Hello, ladies and gentlemen of the Mosburry Convention, today there is someone very special that you’re going to meet, she’s plastic, she’s perfect, introducing… model XVC 2qp, Airabella Grettel!”  The deep, booming voice sounds beyond excited, he’s ecstatic for my entry, though I’m sure he’s really elated about the payment he will soon receive. I’m told that the company’s pay is very good, I wouldn’t know.  I don’t get paid, even though I’m programmed to act as human like as possible and I actually need sleep to recharge my batteries every night, I don’t get a bed or even living quarters. I sleep on a concrete slab in the basement of a hotel storage area every night, while my maker sleeps in five star quarters, complete with room service, hot tubs and every TV channel you can imagine, and, of course, a bed.

    I quickly dust myself off, shaking my head rapidly to clear it off all these negative thoughts.  They do a quick brain scan every month to make sure I haven’t gone into a rebellion or became physco or anything like that due to loosening wires. When you fail, you are reprogrammed the first few times with a new personality, if you keep failing, you are crushed and recycled.  Even though I hate my “life,” I don’t wish for that to occur, at least not at the moment, maybe, in the future I will. Only time will tell.

    I stand on wobbly legs, my manicured fingers shaking like fall leaves, colored and weak.  A fake front to cover it up, pretty colors blind the humans’ eyes. I then get up, plaster on a cartoon like grin, the kind of smirk a villain gives before they manipulate a whole race to do their bidding in favor of their own destruction.  A lump forms in my throat and I feel like I just might puke. I swallow these feelings away and force my spine to straighten and my shoulders to roll back.

    The red curtain slowly divides, I hold up the microphone as my smile expands even more.

    “Hello.”  I greet them all warmly.  Their gazes are fixed, waiting for me to either perform an impossible magic trick or mess up terribly, I’m not yet quite sure.  Maybe they are waiting for me to attack, like those robots in the movies the team showed me recently so I could relate more to their feelings and, hopefully, their words, not mine, manipulate them.  

    “It gives me the greatest pleasure to meet you all.”  I expose my snow white teeth.

    “I would like to talk about a true passion of mine.”  Internally, I roll my eyes, but I carry on.

    “Greg.”  I pause to give my master a sickly sweet smile, (I was to call him by his first name in front of the public and media team), “informed me about something I am beyond excited to share with all of you today.”  I mock fake happy hops, squealing like a preadolescent girl over the latest boy band fad.

    “The upgrades.”  I nod at them with mock ethuismanm.  

    “They will ”  I nod again in a quick, jerky fashion as if I can’t control myself.  

“Do everything for you, even turn on the lights.”  I rock on the back of my designer Shoes. Oh, they have no clue… I stare at their awe stricken faces.