Made to order

It's broken. And I never got to use it. I never got to ride the wave, hold the canary or walk through the open door on my own. Where are you now and what were you thinking when you realized something was wrong? Shouldn't I expect you to fix what is broken instead of being put on another one of your to-do lists? Naive as you are, you probably believed them when they said a new set of instructions were on the way. Look in your in-box already, before I am totally reduced to scrap, rusted pieces of metal held together with overzealous bolts, covered by my rotting artificial skin that once looked as real as the rose outside your window. You ordered me. Not the other way around. Check. "The new best greatest thing," you thought. Lifelike. Made to order. Perfect, down to the green wide set eyes. Why find a real woman, when with one click you can order an Android anywhere, even on eBay. I suppose it was a coincidence that you found her shortly after you realized my mechanical defect. If only my self charging brain were broken too, I wouldn't have to lie here broken bodied inside my dark container wondering what could have been, wondering what it is like, out there.