(Emer) Entry 17
Silver Heart
I tried to treat him civilly, and it was easier than I thought. But that doesn’t assure me of anything. The fact that I can easily forget who he is scares me more than it comforts me.
I am perplexed. I am unsure. My beliefs are constantly tested when I am around him, and my opinions are modified. I find that it is safer to treat him coldly than to treat him warmly.
I refuse to become attached. Attachment wouldn’t benefit me in any way. It would burden me. It would change me. And most of all, I know that – in the end – it will hurt me.
Pain is a feeling I want to avoid.
Yet at the same time, pain is a feeling I am willing to experience as a conclusion if, in the process of coming to terms with my mind, I can determine exactly what my intentions are toward Luhan.
To be honest, I am reluctant to understand myself.
I need to divert my trail of thought. I need to redirect my focus. I need to study, but my will is too small. I need to find information about my father’s death, but my hope is fading.
Perhaps I am fooling myself. Maybe I wanted to believe that my father didn’t give up his life for Exons because I originally thought that Exons were worthless. If my opinion of them has changed, then must my viewpoint on my father’s death change, as well? Does that mean that the curiosity that drove me to discover the case of his death should be disregarded?
Or am I justifying my abrupt caprice?
The phone rings. I am thankful for the sound that breaks my reverie. Picking up the phone from the counter, I say, “Hello?”
“Emer,” my mom greets. I enter the living room and walk to the nearest window. I push the curtains aside and peek outside. Luhan is still standing in the snow, and it looks like he is trying to create a snowman. I let a small chuckle escape my lips.
“What’s up, mom?” I reply as I relax on the couch and lean my chin against the headrest.
“Is it snowing hard over there?” She asks.
“Not really,” I say. “Why?”
“I might not be able to come home tonight,” she admits. “The council is in a bit of disorganization with some recent accusations toward the Institute.”
This arouses my interest. I reposition myself on the couch and press the phone to my ear. “What’s going on?”
“The family of the Brass boy who got hurt during the Market incident is requesting that 2nd Gen Exons be disassembled. And if the Government prefers a different option, then they suggest that the life span of 2nd Gen Exons should be shortened. No final decision has been made yet, but it’s gotten so bad that riots have popped up over the Brass region, and some unsatisfied Brass Marketers are – “
“Wait, life span?” I interrupt as the sound of my heart resounds in my eardrums. I grip the phone tensely.
“2nd Gen Exons are equipped with a certain amount of years. When they reach that deadline, their circuits cease to function.”
“Then Luhan … “
“I don’t know about Luhan,” my mom tells me. “I didn’t order him. When an Argent goes through the process of customizing an Exon, he can choose the life span of that Exon. There is a maximum of ten years, I think. Maybe more. I can’t remember. I thought you knew that. It was always on the letters we used to get before we owned Luhan.”
Letters? I can hardly recall the content of those things. “But is Luhan … how long is he programmed for?” I question, trying not to let my concern show in my tone of voice.
“I’m sorry Emer, but I don’t know,” my mom apologizes. “I didn’t customize him when I received him, the Institute did. They notified me about your father, and as a gift of apology, they wanted to send me a token of their sincerity for having kept your father’s death a secret. It was an option, of course. I didn’t have to accept him,
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