Halloween and Other Seasons

VI

Soon someone, possibly Trevor, will come and find me here. I will not be harmed; I am a valuable product. Bates’ contract with me will be destroyed and the chip he was working on will be sold—an unfinished work. The wrecked console, the debris, will be cleared out and another artist will move into this silo. A new console will be installed. The new artist may bring his own Muse; if not, he may contract me. Otherwise, I will be put back on the market. There is nothing else for me to do. The quality of my work with Bates will be a factor in my next contract—because of my sudden notoriety I may be able to contract myself to an artist who will allow me to work under better conditions. It is this or death.

Outside the window the day is bleak; the far-away sun makes this world sallow. I place a new chip in the console and turn it on to a very low setting. It coughs, then purrs haltingly. I hold my fingers over the keys and a tear beads in my eye and makes its slow, ragged way down my face.

I begin to play.