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There is a very good reason why I’m on top of this building. It only counts if people see you, right? If I was to do it in the bathtub, or in my garage, or some little bungalow on the beach, then it wouldn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything, and the whole point here is the change. The entire reason I’m up here, looking down on twenty stories and pavement, is that things have to change.

Everyone has to see. There have to be as many witnesses as possible. Every single one of those pitiful souls down there has to see me die.

I had no idea what I was until last night. It was chance, really. Blind fate. God, if he existed. He doesn’t, not for me; that was made abundantly clear in an instant. See, I cut myself shaving my legs, slipped and there it was. I don’t really know how I did it. Maybe I sneezed, maybe I drifted off, or maybe it was some sort of subconscious urge. I couldn’t tell you, and all that matters is that I had cut deep.

And I didn’t bleed. Not one drop. I oozed. I dripped some gelled silicate all over the floor, and my field of vision lit up like the Fourth of July. It all made sense: the gaps in my memories, the internship at the tech firm that never quite fit, the days I walked through life like some kind of…it’s because I was. The long and the short of it is that I’m exactly the same as those vapid blonde automatons you see behind the counter at your local Starbucks. Or, even worse, at your local bordello.

I tried it for a day. Searched the ‘Nex, found the best way to hack into my own systems, turned myself into a nice little hooker. But whoever made me decided that some objects should have a sense of decency, for some unfounded reason. I couldn’t do it; this robot was too much of a prude. I couldn’t go back to my old life either, because there was no way I could continue with my ambitions knowing that I wasn’t technically allowed to pursue any of them. I wasn’t a citizen anymore. I was property.

Suicide isn’t an easy decision, but it’s the only way out for me. This is the only way out. If I was to off myself in private, then a new me could just be swapped in without anyone noticing. She wouldn’t know what she is, and she could pick up my life exactly where I had scrapped it. I wasn’t going to let any bastard do that.

And so here I am, on top of the tallest building I could find. Had to wait until the largest crowd possible gathered under me, so that each one could see my face and tell them exactly how I died. Right before I step off I think how I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for a simple accident. But there are bound to be accidents. After all, I’m only human.

Here we go. Better not look down…

I wake in fright. I’ve been having the same dream for weeks, thinking I’m some ‘droid copy of myself. Every night I jump to my death, and I always see me in that crowd of people. I think I’ve jumped at least thirty times now, all over the idea that I’m not me. It’s a silly notion, though; there’s no way I could be one of them. Right?


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