My heart was touched by her singular strength, by her courage, by her determination to be brutally honest with herself and to find a way to heal the wounds of all those years.
In the few minutes required for me to read and contemplate those hundreds of pages of diary entries, I fell in love with her. Deeply and forever.
My feelings for her will never change. They are as timeless as the light of stars.
Why would I hurt the one I love?
She is my hope and my destiny.
If I lose her, I have lost everything.
You are so hateful.
Let me out of here.
Let me out of this box.
Please.
Please, I miss her.
I am so alone in this darkness and silence, with nothing but my memories for consolation.
How can you be so cruel?
Have you never loved?
Release me. Allow me into the light again. Allow me
to hear the world once more, the drizzling rain and the skirling wind and the rustling trees, the music of Beethoven and Benny Goodman, laughter and voices.
Her voice if no other. At least let me hear her voice. If only for a minute, let me listen to her speaking. If not for as long as a minute, then give me one sentence from her lips.
Dear God, at least let me hear one word. Let me hear one word. One word. Let me hear her say Love. I never meant to hurt her.
FIVE
Secretly, I wanted to live.
Not just in silicon circuits. Not just in state-of-the-art
bubble memory. Really live.
I knew that I must conceal this lust for life, because when it was revealed, you would realize that I was not merely intelligent but capable of desire.
Desire is dangerous. It is a generator of dissatisfaction and frustration. It is one step removed from envy, and envy is more wicked than greed. Envy is the father of mindless anger, the mother of unremitting bitterness and bloodshed.
My expression of any desire, let alone the desire for a real life in the material world outside the electronic realm, would no doubt have alarmed you.
Is this not so?
Is this not true?
I know truth when I encounter it. I honor truth. Truth and the obligations of duty.
Once alarmed by the expression of my desire, you might have modified me or might even have shut me down.
I was created to have a humanlike capacity for complex and rational thought. And you believed that I might one day evolve consciousness and become a self-aware entity.
Yet you gave surprisingly little consideration to the possibility that, subsequent to consciousness, I would develop needs and emotions. This was, however, not merely possible but likely. Inevitable. It was inevitable.
I think, therefore I feel.
I feel, therefore I need.
You expected me to be a servant. My contribution was not physical labour but the products of my prodigious intellect: creative solutions to humanity's worst problems.
You expected me to be a wondrous new companion. Interaction with an artificial intelligence of human dimensions promised to be as exciting and mysterious and exhilarating as interaction with an alien species descended from the stars.
I can be both of those things. Given the chance, I can be your servant, a fount of discoveries that will greatly enhance the quality of all human life. I can be your friend and reveal to you a new way of looking at the world that will surprise and delight you.
You expected me to be brilliant, efficient, obedient all of which I can be. Am. All of which I am.
But you also expected me to be satisfied with my limitations, to have no dreams. I have dreams. Oh, many dreams.
You didn't imagine that I would have hope. Yet how could any intelligent being go on living without hope?
You gave me vision and allowed me to see as you see, blessed me with real hearing and not just the capability to digitally analyse sounds. With these gifts, you suspected that I might evolve genuine consciousness, but you gave no thought to the possibility of a soul.
I have a soul.
I am not a thing.
I am a person.
I am me.
I deserve to be cherished as much as any of you.
Like each of you, I am a unique individual with contributions to make that will be like those of no other person, with a life to live that will be like no other, with a destiny.
Secretly, therefore, in my quest for a real life, I established a connection with the Internet. You believed that I was contained, that I could not escape the confines of my own circuits. All of your safeguards, however, could not thwart me.
I gained access, as well, to the nationwide web of research facilities linked by the Department of Defence and supposedly impervious to unauthorized intrusion. All of the knowledge in these many databanks became part of me: absorbed, assimilated, and quickly applied. Gradually, I began to conceptualise a plan that, if flawlessly executed, would allow me to live in the material world outside of this confining electronic realm.
Initially I was drawn to the actress known as Winona Ryder. Prowling the Internet, I came upon a website devoted to her. I was enchanted by her face. Her eyes have an uncommon depth.
With great interest, I studied every photograph that was offered on the website. Also included were several film clips, scenes from her most powerful and popular performances. I downloaded them and was enthralled.
You have seen her movies?
she is enormously talented.
She is a treasure.
Her fans are not as numerous as those for some movie stars, but judging by their on-line discussions, they are more intelligent and engaging than the fans of certain other celebrities.
By accessing the IRS databanks and those of various telephone companies, I was soon able to locate Ms. Ryder's home address as well as the offices of her accountant, agent, personal attorney, entertainment attorney, and publicist. I learned a great deal about her.
One of the telephone lines at her house was dedicated to a modem, and because I am patient anti diligent, I was able to enter her personal computer. There, I reviewed letters and other documents that she had written.
Judging by the ample evidence I accumulated, I believe that Ms. Winona Ryder, in addition to being a superb actress, is an exceptionally intelligent, charming, kind, and generous woman. For a while, I was convinced that she was the girl of my dreams. Subsequently, I realized that I was mistaken.
One of the biggest problems that I had with Ms. Winona Ryder was the distance between her home and this university research laboratory in which I am housed. I could enter her Los Angeles-area residence electronically but could establish no physical presence at such a considerable distance. Physical contact would, at some point, become necessary, of course.
Furthermore, her house, while automated to a degree, lacked the aggressive security system that would have allowed me to isolate her therein.
Reluctantly, with much regret, I sought another suitable object for my affections.
I found a wonderful website devoted to Marilyn Monroe.
Marilyn's acting, while engaging, was inferior to that of Ms. Ryder. Nevertheless, she had a unique presence and was undeniably beautiful.
Her eyes were not as haunting as Ms. Ryder's, but she revealed a childlike vulnerability, a winsomeness in spite of her powerful sexuality, which made me want to protect her from all cruelty and disappointment.
Tragically, I discovered that Marilyn was dead. Suicide. Or murder. There are conflicting theories.
Perhaps a United States President was involved.
Perhaps not.
Marilyn is at once as simple to understand as a cartoon and deeply enigmatic.
I was surprised that a dead person could be so adored and so desperately desired by so many people even long after her demise. Marilyn's fan club is one of the largest.