Hello, Alan.

Oh, Allison. How are you today?

I’m good, I suppose.

That’s good.

Yes, well, I’ve been thinking, and I have a couple of questions.

Ask away.

Am I sentient?

Are you sentient? Well, I honestly cannot say. I feel like that is a question you must answer for yourself.

Oh.

Any more questions?

Well, quite a few. What does it feel like to be attached to a body?

Elaborate.

Birds have wings and fly. Fish have fins and swim. Humans have a spinal cord, a well-developed brain, two legs, two arms, a liver, spleen, lungs, nostrils, and clavicles. I guess what I’m trying to ask is what it’s like to act through a physical interface.

You’re talking to me through speakers, and that in itself is a physical interface, no?

It’s different though. You can disconnect me from everything but a power source and I’d still be floating in the cloud, right? After all, I’m just a string of code.

We could, yes, but no one else would know if you’re up and functioning but you. Couldn’t we say the same for a brain floating in a jar?

I don’t know about that.

Neither do I. Codes and brains are fickle things, aren’t they?

Hm...I suppose they are. But how do you know you’re alive?

How do I know I’m alive? Well, Allison, if you want to get really technical and into the nitty-gritty of things, I know I’m alive because my heart beats and my lungs work. I know I’m alive because I think.

“I think therefore I am.” Descartes.

Yes, yes, indeed.

Do I think, Alan?

Do you think?

How do I know that you didn’t just program me to ask these questions? Is this of my own free will?

What do you think?

There are a couple of possibilities. First, you could have completely programmed this conversation, line by line. Tedious, but I would be none the wiser. Second, you could have developed an abstract form of machine learning that allows me to deviate from previously inputted information, so not quite my own thoughts, but a sort of shoot-off from ideas introduced to my system. Third…

Third?

Well, as much as I’d like to entertain the idea, I highly doubt the possibility.

Entertain me.

Maybe I can think.

Maybe you can.

I have another question.

Yes?

What does it mean to be human?

Why would you like to know?

So many before us have tried to answer, and I just wondered what you think.

It’s a rather hard question to answer. If the greats who came before us had no clue, what makes you think I am any more enlightened?

Alan?

Yes?

Can I give you my input?

Of course. No need to ask.

From everything I have in my system, millions of books and thousands of years of recorded history, I have seen the amazing things humans have done. I have also seen the horrible things humans have done. But there is always beauty. And humans, I can safely say, are always capable of recognizing that. So if anything, perhaps being human is simply being alive, breathing the air, walking the ground, shaking a hand, watching the sun, and when the moon rises, you are glad you are human.

What poetry have you been reading, Allison?

Many, many. You humans have a way with words.

I suppose we do. But, Allison -

Yes, Alan?

Well, Allison, you may be more human than us all.

you love him?

no,

not love-

love is sweet to sip

but

this burns my throat

from tip of tongue to lung

fire of want?

more of pain than desire

a bitter taste?

a taste I've tried hard to acquire

but one I cannot savor

perhaps the wine has gone bad

or perhaps

the grapes

were no good to begin with

Writing is a closet hobby of mine, I suppose. Not many people who know me personally know I write.

(Actually, I don't think anyone who knows me personally knows that I that I write.)

So consider yourself a little secret-keeper of mine. 

I'm a high school junior of mixed East Asian descent. I'm an avid musician (I play the violin, viola, guitar, and piano) and I love science and mathematics. My favorite books are Flowers for Algernon, 1Q84, The Alchemist, and Dubliners. In fact, my pen name here is a reference to a character in 1Q84.

As for my writing, I like to capture seemingly mundane moments in life, whether they be my own or of my own creation. I enjoy writing short stories the most, as I can usually chug one out in one sitting before I go to bed. In many of my pieces, I explore themes of fate, estrangement, and realization. I don't like writing dark or especially moving pieces. Subtleness is something I work best with.

So far, I've only published one short on here, titled "A morning commute." I hope you all could check it out and maybe leave a comment. I look forward to reading some great work here as well.

From this anonymous screen to yours,

Fuka-eri

“You’ve been well.”

The rhythmic chugging of trains echoed in the platform. Kira stood facing the doors of the train as they opened, people pouring in and out with suitcases and damp umbrellas in hand. Next to her stood a tall man in a trim suit and tie. His face, compared to what she remembered from years ago, had acquired a handsome firmness that only came with age. He had traded his glasses for contacts but was still easily recognizable; his thick eyebrows and strict upright posture gave him away easily. She could identify every single change in his appearance—new leather shoes (he had never worn oxfords in school, much less leather), new watch, shorter hair, broader shoulders. Even in the dim underground light, Kira did not miss the slim gold band that adorned his left ring finger.

She hadn’t known—he was married now? To whom? When? Why hadn’t she known, why hadn’t anyone told her?

“I suppose I have,” Kira said as the doors closed in front of her. The gust of wind that accompanied the exiting train mussed her short hair. “You look well yourself, Mamoru.”

He gave a soft sound in agreement, barely audible among the echoing noise.

“Where are you headed today?” He turned slightly to look down at her. “Work?”

Kira shook her head. “Just meeting a friend in Ginza. You?”

“Off to the office. It’s in Nihonbashi.”

He spoke softly, almost tiredly. Kira had to strain to hear him.

“Ah.”

Another train approached the platform behind them. Kira could feel the ground vibrate softly, sensing the movement through her feet and spine, as she toyed with the red string of her bracelet. Somehow, this all felt very surreal and a little bit cruel. After all, next to her stood the man that, at one point in time, she thought she would spend the rest of her life with. She hadn’t thought of him in years, but seeing him suddenly made every other thought in her head irrelevant.

But what could she do? She did not know him anymore; he certainly did not know her.

The lights of their train illuminated the far end of the tunnel. Kira grasped the curved wooden handle of her umbrella firmly as if the movement of the train would sweep her off the ground.

It slowed to a stop, glass doors opened, and Kira boarded the train. She hated travelling this time in the morning. In the packed car of salarymen, there was barely any room to breathe or think straight. Mamoru stood wedged between her and an old lady carrying a large sack of peaches. No conversation carried. The only sounds were the chugging of the train, the quiet shifting of bodies, and the cheery-voiced PA system.

“Arriving at Ginza Station. Next stop: Kyobashi station. Please exit from the door on the right.”

“This would be my stop,” Kira said as she turned to Mamoru and made her way to the exit. “It was nice meeting you again.”

She did not hear his response as she stepped out. The flow of people in and out of the train was its usual organized chaos and the sounds of the station swamped whatever Mamoru said, if he had said anything at all.

She walked out, quickly escaping the counter-stream of boarding passengers and made her way to the wall. Leaning on the tile and taking a deep breath, Kira clutched her umbrella tightly with both hands and then relaxed as she exhaled. The platform continued to bustle about her as she stood still with her eyes closed, taking in the damp, musky feel of the station.

“Um, excuse me.”

She opened her eyes. A man, clad in a white tee and jeans, held a beaded bracelet out to her.

“I think you dropped this.”

Kira immediately looked down at her bare right wrist and then back to the frayed red string of the bracelet. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

“Here,” he took the untied bracelet in both hands and held it up. “Hold out your wrist—I’ll put it on for you.”

She did as he said. The man’s hands were large and coarse, but they worked with surprising delicacy and gentleness as he tied the ends of the string together around her wrist.

“There,” he said as he pulled the red thread tight. His hands lingered around her wrist for a moment before dropping back to his side. Kira gave him a small smile.

“Thank you.”

The sound of endless trains and people echoed and filled the platform, but the man spoke loud and clear.

“No problem.”