Robots entered my unit. I was … sleeping. Like a child, I was sleeping. I was a child.
I had just lain down. Having finished my milk. Having brushed my teeth with the cream-white paste.
I will never be the same.
I lay down, in bed. Pulling … the white sheet, over me. The cream-white sheet. Smiling. Sleeping.
I will never, no, be the same.
Downstairs, a window, opened. I slept. This is … how it must have been. They came in. Knocking over, a milk bottle. (In my sleep turning.) Climbing, the stair. (In my sleep turning and turning.) Opening, the door. My bedroom door. (Turning.) Standing, shadows, in the door.
And then …
Robots entered my unit.
My eyes, on the white pillow, opened. As they entered my unit. I wished – to scream. But did nothing. As they entered. I could not, scream. As they entered my unit. One, another. My unit entering. Again … and again.
The hours. The hours. The sun.
They left my unit, one by one. Descending, the stair. Averting the bottle, the glass bottle, of milk. Lifting, the window. Vanishing.
In my quiet room lying.
In my quiet … room.
I will never, be the same.