She spoke my name with a melody that I'd

She spoke my name with a melody that I'd never heard before. A song danced along each intonation and echoed a sugar coating from my lips to my heart. Not touching her was not an

illegal cyborg protocol, so I was free not to touch as much as possible. I waved my hands all around her face screaming, "I am not touching you,,,,I am not touching youuu." She

was not amused. Little did I know that she was a rebel cyborg who didn't follow the rules. Her hand whipped out in blinding speed and snatched my own mid-taunt. She snapped my arm

like an Otter Pop, with red juices flowing down to my clutching hand that was fast losing its grip. She eyed it greedily in her cold, mechanical way.

Irona, the robot maid, would make short work of my Otter Pop. She

jerked it and gave it a little tug. It went pop, as an Otter Pop should, then it was over. Irona proceeded to lubricate the chassis of her own desires. It was beautiful to see

a woman climb on the hood of a Tuner car of her own volition. I require authenticity in my photos and this Low Rider Magazine cover was to be no exception. Mary loved

the cold, painted steel, but not the posing. Kind of fortunate that she was able to turn her obsession into cash. Except that it was getting old. So was Mary.

She finished her last drink, smoked a final cigarette and stumbled out into the night. There was nothing left. As the suns rays crept across the horizon, Mary knew this was the end

of days. 12/21/12 was clearly displayed on her Timex wristwatch. Mary stepped onto the Black Road, finally at peace. She turned to the east, felt the sun on her face, and smiled.