Warnings: mentions of blood and it's short.

(Character: Starry Locke, 5'7, 20, University Junior)

I spent my life like any other twenty-year-old would; study at some café, actually procrastinate instead of studying, end up studying at two in the morning, having to depend on eight double-shot coffees to survive the obstacles of the day, end up sleeping in, arrive late to class, and so forth.

But I'm not a normal person.

Not. One. Bit.

I enjoyed going outside actually, it helped clear my head, and on this particular day I was outside while reading on my phone and snacking on some corn chips.

A pigeon swooped downonto the bench I was currently sitting on at the park and began pecking at my Frito bag. "Hey, shoo! Go away!" I fanned away the bird and gleamed with satisfaction as it cooed and scuttled away from me, but I groaned in annoyance when I noticed that my phone that I had set down to shoo the animal was no longer on the metal seat, but now on the ground beside me.

I reached over the side to pick up my device, but dropped it immediately with a shriek. A rusted piece of sharpenal that was jabbing out of the leg of the bench had penetrated my arm, and recoiling only made it dig in deeper and tear more of the flesh of my forearm.

Blood decorated the snow and my sweater sleeve, pain searing through my body. And just my luck, no one was around to hear me wail for any sort of help.

The piece of steel was lodged into my arm, and I couldn't get it out by moving my arm or it would start puncturing my bones, so I braced myself, held my breath, and yanked my arm upwards – the metal ripping through my epidermis.

I screamed bloody murder, and held my wound, the crimson liquid staining my legs, arms, and hands. I looked down at the injury and immediately regretted it. The revolting sight of my own blood sent me into another wave af pain, in too much shock to move my legs and go get help.

But what I really noticed the most was that my blood, and with this much amount gushing was impossible, gave off no coppery scent. That fact right there halted my wailing and shattered me into reality.

I looked down at my arm, nearly throwing up at the sight, and as much as I didn't want to touch it, I swiped away as much of my blood as I could, and held open my wound.

Bolts.

Wires.

Screws.

A serial number.

Nothing you would see in the normal human— if I even really was human. I looked at it closer, and saw a small flickering light, yet it stoped flashing, and I blacked out a second later.

"Project Constellation, welcome home."

Spoopy :0 I hope you enjoyed this short chapter that I re-wrote from my sixth grade English journal.

Word count- 480