Turn your body into metal? Yup, that was the grand promise of science. With this technology, I can be immortal. Every time Dr. Leandro attaches some sticky wired things on my head, a machine downloads my memories and my experiences to create a backup brain. Then, they’ll build a metal body that is covered with plastic.

“What the fuck, Meg!” my brother Carlo screamed, red in the face. “Do you have a death wish?”

“Dad,” I said, turning to the beefy guy who was silently crying beside Carlo. “I know you understand. “

“The surgery could fail and you could die!” said Carlo.

“We have a backup brain, just in case the brain transplant fails, and I need to be resurrected,” I said.

“Listen to yourself!”

She used to sleep in a sad little alley, wrapped in her favorite heap of trash bags. Everything changed when Mr. Mayor invited her to tea. Said an uncle she never knew gave her inheritance. Said from now on she had to pay taxes. Said he needed a token of appreciation too. Before this, he never cared about her. When she had told him that she really needed to swallow beauty, he just walked by. Now he smiled and said that he’ll do everything in his power to make it come true.
She always wanted to swallow beauty. When she swallows, she wants to see only beautiful things, for swallowing is the same as consuming. Try as she might, she can’t control what she sees. Sometimes she glances at something, and, at the same time, her throat muscles welcome new saliva—she has swallowed ugly again. Swallowing ugly makes her feel like vomiting. To stop the vomit from rising up, she clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth, pops her shoulders repeatedly and counts 1, 1, 2, 2, 3, 3, 4, 4, 5, 5, 6, 6, 7, 7, 8, 8, 9, 9, 10, 10, 11, 12, 12, 13, 13, 14, 14, 15, 15, 16, 16, 17, 17, 18, 18, 19, 19, 20, 20. It always works. It’s her anti-vomit mantra, but even if she is cured from the vomit, she is not cured from the ugly. She still feels dirty. She knows that the only thing that will cleanse her is to swallow beauty.