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Reimagining “The Machine Stops” through the eyes of Kuno

My mother has fallen victim to the chains of religious attachment towards something void of flesh and blood. She has no autonomy to do anything for herself, and relies on the machine for everything, like an infant clinging to its mother. I envy her. She sees no fallacies within her life. I must pose the question, how can I- her kin- possess these unnatural urges to escape? I cannot fathom the possibility of a life meaningless and void of human interaction. I yearn to be a monkey, those furry creatures with long limbs and hairy bodies. On my screen they seem so free, so unbound and fulfilled. I desire a life of survival, not a life where I am coddled. I feel like an alien, trapped inside a glass tomb, where all faces peering down, are looking at the velvet interior, not the foreign creature inside. The tunnels are lit. I had made numerous trips, desperate to find an opening. A tiny beast clawed my stomach apart with the notion there had to be a way out. Upon my instincts, I came across ...
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I'm Confused About the Message in "Blood Child" by Octavia Butler

       Octavia Butler's Blood Child is analogous to a video of pimple popping. Gross, yes, but is one able to look away? No. Or maybe I’m projecting my twisted sense of intrigue and have exposed myself beyond the point of redemption. Oh well. Blood Child is an interesting short story regarding the power dynamics and systemic coercion of the human-like Terrans from the alien Tlics. I believe Octavia Butler had the intention of including social commentary regarding gender roles, but it got overshadowed by the beastiality (?) aspect. Blood Child could be a story depicting gender roles in the ways they are manifest in our real world, but swapped. Here's my thought process:     T'gatoi is superior in age, physicality, and class status. She is an alien woman with the role of protecting the Terrans, and Gan's family from the dangerous Tlics roaming outside the Preserve. I believe she represents the "male" in traditional gender roles. Her hold over the Terr...
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Sheri in "Good People"

  Good People  But It's Narrated For Sheri      Sheri sat on the picnic table with her elbows bent atop her knees, attempting to inhale the tranquil air of the park. The willow trees swayed as the cool breeze ruffled her clean-pressed shirt, and swayed her clean, blonde hair. She was surprised she could still smell the faint scent of shampoo in her hair, she couldn’t remember when she last washed it. Lane Dean always liked the way she smelled. Sheri knew this, and never forgot about it. On this day too, she knew he was searching for that smell. Searching for something sweet, and familiar. Something he could hold on to while his world shook. He was subliminally inhaling harder than one would to simply breathe. Maybe he was just trying to slow his heart down. Sheri couldn’t tell, and she knew this was a problem.       She closed her eyes and bowed her head, attempting to rationalize and pray at the same time. She was “good people”, as Lane Dean...
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