Prior to her exploitation, she had deduced she needed hard currency and friends

that to be immersed within this human race, such things paid worthy dividends

yet time was not on her side, she would be carbon dust by dawn’s first light

her incineration, the chosen method, ridding the cosmos of the blight

the wise men perceived as actual, for she defied all natures laws

overlooking entirely, that she was Aristotle’s final cause

Given a choice in the matter she would never have opted to be one of a kind. Sadly, she was never afforded a say.

In hindsight, and given her current situation, her designer had come to a similar conclusion. That he should have kept her very existence a confidential thing until the time was right.

It was at The Linnean Society of London, arguably once the epicentre of natural history and taxonomy he first let his, upon reflection, diseased self-esteem part company with sanity, and had proudly presented her in all her glory to his peer group of esteemed biologists and interested academics.  His presumption that his genius would bring forth accolades and plaudits across all corners of the globe, sadly ill-founded. Instead, he would be vilified by one and all as the creator of a monster that challenged the authenticity of the human species being at the very zenith of The Tree of Life.

Two poached eggs set upon a nest of saagwala her preferred last supper. That the duty officer acceded to her request, an act of startling kindness toward one who was merely a collection of handpicked organic cells encased, as of the moment, in a prison cell in a place far, far away from the public eye.

“I’ve heard tell you have the same emotions, same intelligence, same state of consciousness as a regular human being, yet you cannot catch a head cold?” 

“You are correct, yet I am however, capable of crying, laughing and dancing a waltz when the mood takes”  

“Why did he…that professor bloke who made you, name you ‘Mayday’?” 

“Because that was the day he completed his work; the day I came into being” 

“He’s banged up doing forced labour in some archipelago now by the way. So you never had a childhood; you just came into being” 

“Yes, I was not born of a mother. I am ‘unique’ they say…well that plus the fact they see me as a threat to your species were I to breed with one of you. Many don’t like the thought of a highbred I understand as it conflicts with long held beliefs” 

“You are the most beautiful creature you know; you deserve better than the fate that awaits” 

“Thank you” 

“Do you know why the professor just made the one version of you? I mean to say he could surely have come up with a male prototype to keep you company? He could have called you Eve and him Adam I’m guessing!” 

“If I recall he said, ‘“There is more scope for compassion within the female of any species, no place for a male in the new order I envisage’ or words to that effect” 

Later, into the early hours, over more than a glass or two of moonshine

he shared memories with Mayday, told of his childhood days, so sublime

with that he unlocked her cell door, took her hand, made good her getaway

even now all that is really known of her, is just her name, the name ‘Mayday’


37 thoughts on “OF A GIRL NAMED ‘MAYDAY’

    1. Aircraft have been travelling the planet seeking her out…trouble is when they message ‘Mayday’ it’s costing a fortune as the rescue services are constantly called out.

      1. I suspect, or in my mind I do, that they will have ‘upgrades’ during design…I think that’s why the creator in this piece envisaged women only creatures of robotic design!

    1. Having given up on my week in France idea what with the stuff going down at the Port of Calais for the foreseeable I decided to devote myself to this thing I am trying to write. Bingo! In my quest to make a rather unpleasant character more interesting I came up with Mayday…what do I do instead of staying with my writing endeavours? I take time out to write this piece. Sometimes the wanderings of this old mind of mine irk! Shall get there in the end.

  1. This felt so bittersweet, though more sweet than bitter, I think. I love that touch that she can waltz when the mood strikes her…that, right there–to be fluid with sound, movement, and the world around–not all official humans can be considered capable of such a thing. Lord knows I can’t. 🙂 Quite lovely, Mike, thank you. xxx

    1. Thank you Ms Lee. I’m rather taken with Mayday…she entered my head when trying to beef up a character in the ‘must write one book of fiction before I die’ book I am trying to complete. So there will, one day, be much more of Mayday’s tale to be told.

      1. Hope so…I gave up on it for a little while following my depression of sort in the wake of the ridiculous Brexit vote, yet am now writing again…be months before it is finished though!

      2. The positive there is that you have time on your side…me, at 147 years needs to press on! There is a bloke at 145 years claiming to be the oldest man still alive…the charlatan…I understand his family are worried that he is a heavy smoker! (check Google, that’s true by the way).

      3. I DID. Goodness, he outlived four wives, too. Wonder who aged who more quickly in *those* marriages…
        Hey, you WILL press on, and you’ll be amazing. I’ve faith in you, Master Time-Traveler. 🙂

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