Cheers to My Dead Heart

My heart was beating to its utter limit. Within hours it was set to stop for good and cut my promising life far too short, all due to a fatal flaw in my sickly biology. But I wasn’t worried, as a replacement had been well prepared.

I wanted to be awake for the transplant-To see the very defective core of my being ripped out and replaced with the fruits of human ingenuity, of which had been the labor of my days. These years, these 27 long years of life experimenting on defective animals and people alike, climbing the unsteady ladder of technological progress…they were finally paying off. The many ages I’d scraped by and watched as others ran marathons while I’d barely left the stable was about to be history only recalled in my memoirs. I wouldn’t allow anyone to steal the triumph of this sight from me.

But those ‘surgeons’ refused to acknowledge my particular demands.

What fools they were to believe that nobody could undergo such a procedure while their eyes feasted upon their own body being carved. How weak did they think my constitution was? But like any professionals, throw enough money their way and ‘thy will be done.’

Experimental nourishment filled my veins and sustained my consciousness, unfortunately denying me the privilege of pain, which would have been adversity for which I could have overcome to earn my position. This compromise would have to suffice.

Though offering a painless procedure, the numbing drugs weren’t without some benefit. The colors in my eyes were more vibrant and defined as those operating on me began to pull chunks from my chest. Such beautiful strings of pinks, reds and blues, unlike anything I’d ever seen.

Why was flesh so beautiful, yet so weak?

Finally their scalpel had cut far enough into the jungle of muscles and bone to reveal the heart-The organ that had caused me so much discomfort since my birth. It was now exposed to the air, and no less a treat to my eyes than my other scattered internals, but its beauty was deceiving its rampant inefficiency. As they cut the many arteries keeping it connected to me, I relished in its removal.

Good riddance.

With its exit came a far more robust component. A machine. One that would pick up the circulatory slack no matter the circumstance. The Stein Tech logo was stamped on the side of its flexible, soon to be beating surface, proof that only my company could have achieved such a marvel that would prevail those sharing in my sickly shoes.

But for a brief moment, while the nurse and surgeon wielded the two hearts adjacent to one another, one of flesh and the other synthetic, why did my eyes still eagerly linger upon the weaker of the pair? I was inherently drawn to it, as if holding remorse, like watching a dead friend be placed in a coffin.

It didn’t matter anymore. That piece of me was gone. Ready to be disposed of in the bio bucket and burned for its failure. Now replaced with a more practical investment…

Or, was it?

This synthetic heart wasn’t without its faults. It needed power, of which the brain wasn’t capable of generating yet. That was another chunk of metal inside of me. It also needed long stints of maintenance for the body to cooperate with, or risk falling into disrepair.

And worst of all, it was not living.

Seeds of regret planted within me, and the surgeons buried the feeling deep under a soil of muscles and protected it with a grate of regrafted ribcage.

“Mr. Stein, the transplant was a success.”

Though he called this a ‘success’, was it really worth celebrating? I only had a new set of issues to look forward to. Did a weak body like mine need an imperfect solution just to prevent a death by atrophy?

I realised why I was so sad to see that old part go just then. I’d given up a valuable portion of me, unfortunately cursed before birth. It wasn’t my heart's fault that my genes were so weak. Now something unliving was introduced to my system to supplement my pathetic shortcomings, proving that I was even farther from perfection by nature.

Why, oh why was this my lot in life to never be satisfied? Why did others get such wondrous genetic luck, sustainably able to perform such amazing feats of strength in the very bodies they’d been born with?

I was jealous.

I fought day in and day out, justifying my work by propelling the weaker of my fellow man to new levels of power with my technology, yet even then luddites cursed me at every turn. Those social media crusaders claimed I was a monster for replacing the touch of divinity blessed within the deepest most parts of our fleshly human bodies.

Finally, I saw what they meant.

I didn’t want to be a cyborg powered by imperfection. I wanted to be the perfect example of a mortal man-To claim that hidden beauty that the silent gods had snuck in places so few could see.

As a recovery period took hold, I conceived of a pet project funded by the success of our company's synthetic organ transplants. I would see the peak of human potential summoned to my doorstep so as to examine and pull from them the perfect portions and build a vessel of flesh worthy of housing my soul.

The Earth was an unconsentual treasure trove of parts with which to draw from!

My work started in secret with only a handful of my most loyal scientists. Firstly experiments had to be done on animals as a proof of concept. Rats, guinea pigs and other small creatures were hand selected for any number of incredible qualities. Their organs and limbs cloned and grafted to their brethren in a communal upgrade. Many died in the name of progress, but the handful of successes paved the way for our first human trial.

Through unscrupulous channels, we found able bodied individuals ‘willing’ to donate themselves to science. Openly, the world had banned cloning human life as if it were an unspoken taboo instructed from above. Behind closed doors however, who really believed the shadows listened to the law?

So we cloned. And we cloned a lot. According to the world, none of these clones existed, thus they had no rights to protest our project. It was amazing what could be learned when the law wasn’t breathing down our necks.

Seeing as we had no limitations, we customized each clone by cutting and grafting different parts around in a frenzy. It was far different work from prosthetic limbs, but theoretically would connect more effectively. The first few batches were quite the mess-Amalgams of meat that left me nervous for the future of our project. But we eventually honed the craft inches from perfection.

Once again though, I was unsatisfied.

The quality of the clones was based around the individuals who we sampled from. Let’s just say there was a reason they were so cheap to purchase. Just as many flaws existed in them as they did in me. So no matter how much we pulled out of each, there were always going to be pieces that hindered perfection.

“We need better samples.”

It became a sort of vendetta for me to seek out only the most incredible examples of humanity. I stalked the internet for ideas-Asked around for inspiration. But getting good genetic material wouldn’t be so easy, especially since many of those people were hot topics in the public eye and couldn’t just disappear. I had to be tactful and adjust to the situation.

Even if I couldn’t get the full specimens' cooperation, I only needed a portion of their DNA to reproduce a particular organ of interest. I was informed that I would be less likely to catch legal attention that way by a rather obedient cockroach in my closed circle.

Progress was slow and I still had yet to fully recover from my personal transplant, but I continued to scour the internet in search of bodies with exceptional qualities that I one day wished to have myself. Each and every profile I stumbled upon didn’t quite match my desires completely. But I wasn’t even sure what to seek first among the different parts I lacked in. Nothing caught my eye…

…eyes…?

Or so I assumed I was so out of luck. There was a marksman, the best of his generation. A decorated war veteran who served in Iraq, now lived less than an hour away in a San Francisco gutter. How the eagle eyed falls. His almond shaped eyes weren’t just appealing to mine, but their capabilities exceeded the average man many fold, maybe dipping into territories only birds could achieve.

I gave him a call and arranged a casual meeting, which went under the respectable pretense of a partnership with wounded veterans. He agreed, and we shared coffee.

At first I was at a loss for how to draw out the organic material I needed from him, but I was inspired when he shed a few tears for his fallen comrades in arms. Prodding the man with questions, my handkerchief found its way into his hands and dabbed his watery eyes. Then a smile of great satisfaction drew upon my lips, which I masked as encouragement for his circumstances.

I’d hoped the fool would have given me back the handkerchief, but he tossed it in the trash along with the rest of his waste, which was admittedly very little. That plate had been licked clean. He even had the gall to thank me for being a good listener and that he was more than happy to work with my company if it came with a paycheck and stability for other vets in need.

I certainly didn’t want to thank him for making me dig through the trash!

Nevertheless, I had what I wanted, and it was time to put it to good use. Those amber eyes were easy to grow. The mere sight of them made me yearn to attach them to myself and reap the benefits of an eagle eyed individual.

What would become of my own eyes? I didn’t regret ripping them out so as to never need glasses again!

Unfortunately, that procedure I couldn’t watch live for obvious reasons, so a recording sufficed after the fact. But when I was finally able to see, the vibrancy and definition granted by the previous drugged influence returned and became the norm. The world was far more beautiful, akin to the colors of my once drugged state, reminding me of that fleeting moment of high.

“I should have done this long ago, but progress does build on itself.”

Seeing as my newfound sight was a success, I wondered what should be changed next. There was no time to rest. I had a whole body atrophied from years of inability, so the prospect was exciting.