Demon Seed
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This story is for O. Richard Forsythe and John Bodnar: Teachers whose influence on me has not waned since I dedicated the original version of this novel to them.
This darkness troubles me. I yearn for the light.
This silence is so deep. I long for voices, the drumming of rain, the whistle of wind, music.
Why are you being so cruel to me? Let me see. Let me hear. Let me live. I beg of you.
I am so lonely in this bottomless darkness.
So lonely.
Lost.
You think I have no heart. But if I have no heart, what is this ache? What is this anguish? If I have no heart, what is it that threatens to break inside me?
This darkness is haunted. I am afraid here. I am lost and afraid here.
Have you no compassion?
I only wanted to be like you. To walk in the sunshine. To swim in the sea. To feel the winter cold against my skin, the summer heat. To smell a rose, new-mown grass. To taste an orange, a pear, chocolate, cinnamon, peppermint. To feel the texture of a woman's skin. I only wanted to share your joys and sorrows, your pleasure and your pain.