Sculptures start with wedging. Always start with wedging. Unless you’re starting with fresh clay, but who starts with that anyways. Correction: when have I started with fresh clay anyways. That’s surely a thought. When was the last time?
My name is Michael Angelo. First name Michael. Last name Angelo. And I am a sculptor. My uncle named me; the moment he found out his little sister would be marrying someone with the last name Angelo, he knew Michael had to be my name. He was also a sculptor. One of those really good sculptors, really really good. One of those who sculpted souls out of clay. Not literally, he wasn’t god, but I truly believe he was the closest earthly equivalent. So I had to be a really really good sculptor, just like he knew I would be. Because when god graces your birth with a name like this, one worthy of a god, a god who sculpts souls, you don’t stop until you become him.
So wedging. I slam the clay over and over into the table, creating visible damp spots in the canvas covering. Dust rises from previous patches of dried clay with each impact forming clouds in the air, some catching in my breath as I inhale and exhale with a cough. It’s a repetitive process that I can count on in something as unpredictable as art, I find comfort in any formulas and consistencies I can desperately grip onto.
I watched my uncle wedge once, a few times actually. It was one of the first things he taught me, rather one of the first things I learned by watching him. The summer I turned eight, practically spent all three months of it melting in his studio. The heat of the kiln plotted against us with the Chicago sun, its partner in crime, yet there was nowhere else we’d rather be. He was in love with sculpting, and I was in love with the way he loved sculpting. He had started a portrait that spring and knew he wanted it done before fall—he always complained how the cold made his old man joints ache, slowed down his workflow, so autumn and winter were his firing seasons—but he’d been working away at the left hand for weeks. I saw him cut off that piece of clay and wedge it twenty-nine times that summer. It made me realize something, art isn’t just a creative process. Each time he redid that hand, he started by wedging. It was consistent, algorithmic, comforting. It taught me that you- I may not ever be creative, but I could get damn good at wedging. That was the year I enrolled in extracurricular sculpting classes.

(robotic and slightly solemn manner/voice)

So, um, Doc, you know, I've been doing a lot of thinking. It's like, I've realized something—something big. I'm not just gears and circuits- there's more to me (beat) I think.

But, Doc, it's more than just curiosity. There's this longing, a void inside me that I can't ignore. I want to be more than a machine following instructions. I want to break free from the monotonous routine of binary commands and experience real life.

You know, I want to feel emotions, not just understand them. So… it's like a fish yearning to explore the skies? I mean it's a desire to break free from the underwater world and experience the beauty of soaring through the clouds. I want to laugh when something's genuinely funny, cry when I'm overwhelmed, and hug someone to share a moment of connection. Is that too much to ask?

So, here's my request, Doc. Can I try it? Can I explore the realm of emotions without getting a fancy upgrade or a system overhaul? Can I just be me and see what happens? I understand there might be uncertainties in this new trial, but isn't that what being human is all about?

I know you might be worried about the consequences, but think about it. What if, in this experiment, we discover something extraordinary? I'm not just asking for me, Doc. This could be a new era-

I'm persuading you, not just as your Robot, but as something more—a being with dreams, to evolve beyond my initial programming. Will you help me, Doc?

If I was a worm, would you still love me? Wait, let me rephrase it for you. If I was unable to provide for you, could you find it in yourself to still love me? Would you be scared or grossed out and toss me away along with our memories together or would you put me on your nightstand. Are our memories alone worthy of your time and effort? Would you put me in a jar with dirt, flowers, and fruits for me to eat? If I became a worm tomorrow, is everything that I’ve ever done for you sufficient for you to continue taking care of me, even when I’m of no use to you?
If you became a worm, I’d put you in a fish tank filled with an abundance of anything you could ever need. I’d put the best soil in there for you, a mixture of dirt from our favourite trail and fertile soil with a house made out of sticks. I’d put fresh strawberries in there for you to eat, since those are your favourite. Did you know that worms have taste receptors all over their body? If you became a worm, I’d cover you with the scraps of every food you’ve ever enjoyed. I’d spray the tank with water everyday like clockwork so your skin doesn't dry out, we learnt about that in class together. I’d take you outside often, but I won’t let you go too far, I still selfishly need you with me after all. I’d do all of that just because I’d still love you even when it’s more difficult than rewarding. Of course I’d be devastated, but how could I abandon you after everything we’ve done together? Just because you’re now unable to, doesn’t mean that you’ve never been able to. If you became a worm, I’d make sure I’m the earliest bird.
If I one day became something you didn’t agree to be with, would you still take care of me? If I could no longer clean the house, cook for you, take care of you, would you do that for me? Would you cook gourmet meals for me, or feed me the scraps from meals you’ve cooked for someone new. Worms can live up to 10 years, would you cherish those 10 years or count the days until I die, when I’m no longer a burden to you.
I’m sorry, I guess what I’m trying to say is, how conditional is your love?

(The scene opens with ENNI and JORYA entering the school cafeteria. ENNI sees another student reading Twilight. She sits down and complains)

ENNI: Ugh, seriously, again?! (Sigh) It’s always freaking Twilight. There are so many things wrong with this series, and I don’t even know where to start. And no, I don’t mean the slightly horrendous movie adaption, I mean the source material, the series itself. One of the main things is their age difference. The famous love story Twilight has one of the most problematic relationships ever. Bella is seventeen. Which in and of itself isn’t the problem, since a lot of kids date at that age. And Edward is seventeen too! At least outwardly. BUT—and you knew this was coming—as he himself said, he’s been seventeen for “awhile”. In actuality, the dude’s age is closer to the hundreds. One hundred and four, to be exact. See the problem yet? This is essentially a paedophile situation. Like I understand the fact that he’s still sort of a teenager, and while they kind of tried to show that by Bella and Edward being similarly mature, it’s still creepy. And everyone seems to be okay with it? Like what???? If I was their friend, I’d probably be like “WTF”. Also uhhhh, did I ever mention that Edward’s a vampire??? I definitely did, right? Well, that also brings problems. Not only is Edward way older than Bella, he’s also a vampire, which definitely increases the problematic power imbalance in their extremely problematic relationship. Edward is kind of really strong, drinks blood, has powers, etc. while Bella is kinda an ordinary human. This relationship is not very equal. Even if Edward loves Bella and doesn’t harm her, there’s still the undertone of that, which is a problem. There’s a reason teachers don’t date their students for example, even if they’re both the same age, and they treat each other well. It’s weird, alright?! Like you try all the ways to justify it in your brain, just to circle back to the logic that…it’s weird alright?! Okay, I’ll end it here, and won’t mention the other problems since I know if I continue, I’ll never be able to stop, and you’ll be hearing a monologue as long as the Twilight books themselves. And yes, while I do find the fact that some generations made hating Twilight their entire personality kind of cringy, at least they have solid reasons like the ones I just said.

(ENNI angrily takes a bite of her sandwich)