A tale was once told among the ancestors of the people who live at the base of the great mountain to the north, from which a waterfall plummets into a river that winds across the land. The people who now live in that rich and lovely place still remember the tale of how and why their ancestors’ hearts once grew still and frigid. And they still remember what part the everyday gods played in the tale.
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“The artificial beings would not allow themselves to have hearts.” Continue reading
“See for yourself,” Jacob said, stepping aside.
“Oh, wow.” The young reporter leaned down, her eyes widening.
Jacob smiled at the look on her face. He glanced at the organ behind layers of glass and smiled even wider. A beating heart. An artificial heart. And he had helped to create it, design it, mold it, and nurture it. It seemed to beat stronger, as if it were showing off. It still surprised him sometimes that he found it beautiful. He’d seen so many hearts in his time with the tissue regeneration research laboratory. Pig hearts, frog hearts, human hearts. He had respected them all, but never found them beautiful. Nor did he feel that way about this artificial heart until three days ago, when it started beating for the first time.
The reporter straightened and though she turned her head slightly towards him, her eyes remained on the heart. “How long has it been going?”