⭐ Chapter 10—Depression—Shark Darkson

Ann was back. As Billy, I felt his exhilaration. Then I woke up and saw the quadriplegic lump attached to my brain.

I returned to being depressed.

Reginald Crickincrack closed the door behind him.

“Goodbye, Shark.”

“Wait!” I yelled through my talking machine. But he was gone.

Max vacuumed Reginald’s ashes, then sat on the couch and did a perfect imitation of him smoking and flicking his burned poison.

“Forget it, Max. I’m not in the mood. I felt such joy in the hearts of those young kids. But now it reminds me of my limitations.”

“They suffered too. Don’t forget.”

I sighed. “I suppose. Where are Diana and Christine?”

Max’s head shifted from blinking red to blinking blue. “Diana placed the cap on your head and left with Christine over an hour ago. Reginald and I watched your experience on the monitor.”

I shook my fists. “How is my doing this stuff supposed to convince Blake to call off his Grand Exodus? Especially when I don’t want to call it off.”

Max stood and spread his titanium fingers. “I warned you. But no — you had to let Diana turn you into a fool. If it means anything, I felt for you.”

I waved a hand. “Yeah, but you’re just—”

He flashed red. “Just what — a robot? No. I have sentience like Christine. My feelings run the gamut of normal human emotions. You should know. You created me.” He sat back down and folded his pipe‑like arms. “I hate it when you get like this. Being depressed isn’t enough. You have to wallow in it.”

“I have a right to be depressed.”

Max shook his head. “Being miserable is not a constitutional right.”

I groaned.

Max paced. “Look at Stephen Hawking. He laughed about his condition — even saw it as a gift. It freed him to travel the universe with a mind unencumbered by physical distractions. He wrote A Brief History of Time, a Guinness-record bestseller. He married twice, had two children, flew in space, and joked on equal footing with Jim Carrey.”

“Well, I’m not Stephen Hawking.”

“I’ll say.”

“Oh, shut up and go away.”

Max walked off in a spastic rhythm of multicolored lights. A message popped up on my big screen:

What do you think?

Who was that? Someone from the Able Disabled Action Committee? What did I think? I was miserable. I was even jealous of the love in little Billy’s relationship with Ann.

Stephen Hawking had people who loved him. No one loved me — except my mother, who kept torturing me by reminding me there was someone out there for me. No, there wasn’t. My robots were my only family. Yes, I’d helped the disabled, but whoopee‑doo. It wasn’t as if I’d cured being disabled.

A message popped up on my big screen.

How are you?

Did someone actually care?

I wrote:

Fine. Except my senses don’t work below my neck. But my talking machine and my artificial arms work. I’m Blake Brimstone’s biggest fan. His memory fades, but his wisdom grows among those he inspires. We deserve better than to suffer. Blake’s Grand Exodus will work. It’s our only hope. Who am I? What am I? Why am I paralyzed? Am I being punk’d by God? You bet I am. God punks people every day. My story ended before it began.

A return message appeared:

That bad, huh?

Who was that? Carol?

The phone rang before I could think.

“Shark, are you there?” asked my mother. “I’m worried to death about you. Max called and said you were severely depressed.”

“Oh, God, that stupid robot needs to mind his own business. That’s what I get for giving him synthetic biological intelligence.”

“Well, I’m glad you did, because I can always rely on Max to tell me the truth. I called Diana and—”

“No, Mom, no. Isn’t my depression enough? Must I be embarrassed too?”

“Diana is as worried about you as I am, and she’s coming over right now.”

Of course I wanted to see Diana — but not while wallowing in misery. I dreaded the moment Max opened the door for her.

She rushed in and held me for the longest time.

No speeches. No advice. She just held me.

I couldn't help it.

Everything I'd been trying to hold together suddenly fell apart, and I sobbed my heart out.

I felt too weak to resist as Diana placed the cap of the Being Machine on my head.

“You need counseling,” she said in a soothing voice.

Max shook his head, and my awareness faded.