When I saw you…mine didn’t.
You see, the mechanical pump they implanted into my chest is guaranteed for fifty years. Tha-dum, tha-dum, every two seconds, for fifty years. The old organic one leaked like a sieve.
You like my hair? Yes, I’m currently a redhead, but who knows…this time next week, I could be brunette or blonde. I have a fantastic hairdresser who styles my wigs, because I have to disguise the metal plate in my skull somehow. There wasn’t enough skin left to cover it, I’m afraid.
The unusual colour of my eyes…well, I was lucky, they matched the shade perfectly. The days of glass orbs are long gone; nowadays, they grow organic replacements. Imagine, hundreds of eyeballs, waiting in glass jars for victims like me. Thanks to modern technology, they can even mimic the movements of the remaining eye.
You compliment my dress, but think it strange to wear long-sleeves in the height of summer. I have no choice. You really wouldn’t like to see where my bionic arm joins the stump. The prosthetic is temperature regulated, covered in the latest flexi-skin, and capable of reacting to the few remaining nerves I have left to make it more realistic. And thank goodness for false nails…because the ones on my left hand will never grow again.
But if you looked at me, you’d never know.
You can’t see what he did to me.