• Andy's heart beat, just like everyone's. It thumped away minutes and days and years; pumping and churning blood to her fingertips and toes, flushing them hot with the pink hue of life. And just like all others, Andy's heart bled. It bled red with each wound to her pride or morality, seeping and staining with every act of cruelty that made her what she was. It made her human to feel sorrow, to feel pain so great her eyes stung and her mouth went dry.

    Her human heart, thumping and pumping and bleeding. She wished it would stop; cease its vile and wayward sense of feeling, doubling her over with emotion so great it soaked her shirt. She wished it could be made of gears and screws and wire, ticking and grinding away time like a grandfather clock. She wished so desperately she could pull it out and begin anew, to piece together the little bits with gears and metal, to connect the wire and feel the spark of life without feeling it so deep.

    Andy wanted nothing more than to be a machine.