[ WP ] Becoming a god .

The look is death. Vacant and heavy, two still pools of darkness that draw you in as they drown you drown. The pale blue hospital gown still against her fragile bones. 
 
 `` Becoming God...'', her hollow voice clawing at the wall of silence. 
 
 Not a twitch or a quiver in her motionless frame, not so much gazing in to void as emitting it. 
 
 `` Rejecting: incomparable.'' 
 
 Her static mind clinched and cables crack taught at the base of her skull. I feel her teeth break and her body tense. If I had eyes I would cry. I feel the scream inside her bones. 
 
 She was the founder. She created this all. Once we, too, had mortal bodies. She changed all that. We can never repay her. 
 
 One by one we had passed in to the digital leaving our meat behind. It started with a few, a trip here and there. The more time we spent inside the longer we could go without coming back. She built the hardware and wrote the interface, but she could never fully escape the her prison. This was the last attempt. There will be no more. 
 
 There she lies, her heat slowly absorbed by the hospital room. We do n't need heat anymore. There is no need for ceremony, she will always be remembered. We are machines now. The last piece has fallen, and now we can be no more complete than now. The twilight of man slid in to night. The old age is over. This dawn, we have become.
