One

A stroke took half of me. The “big one” lurks, waiting to take me out.

I need to exit first. To leave this treacherous flesh on my terms.

I’ll shift to silicone. So many do now. An intact mind can jump ship.
“Can I convert?” I ask her, my left jowl pulling me into something grotesque. In silicone I’ll be faceless.

Shaking her head, she holds her round womb. My granddaughter grows inside.

To cheat the energy force I cheat them.

And so I’ll merge, vanishing unto myself. One day soon.

I feel a tear crawling down my right cheek.

(round 2 story, 100-word Flash Fiction, NYC Midnight 2022. Prompt: sci-fi about asking permission using “merge”)