Contemplating Sunrise

The rocking chair swings back and forth and to and fro as the old woman hums a tune popular in her youth. The table in front of the rocking chair was placed there to keep her from falling face first, so it would be table first and tables are not usually the first things we consider when we’re falling unless it is at least from the second floor our bodies are falling from. The old woman rubs her knees and she remembers the tune was from her high school dance, or a dance she wasn’t able to recall what the occasion was but she was sure it was special. The sun rises.


When people sleep, they undergo stages without their knowledge. People sleep then slip into a state where void exists and anything can fill it: an aunt, a landscape, a monster. The void consumes without permission, without warning, and people fall into its trap because they’re tired, so their system shuts down, like a technical device, except technical devices don’t have the will to plug themselves back on when they’re ready. But who is to say people can’t? People, when sleeping, can sense light once again and know world that surrounds them and that they’re in. But people can also be shut down, and shut down for eternity, even when they’re ready to plug themselves back on again. What then separates a person from a machine? A machine can die without having their say, a person can die without their will consulted. If a person can function when alive just as much as a machine could, and die just as much as a machine, then is a person a machine? A machine also human?