Summer Frost (Forward Collection, #2)

by Blake Crouch

“Not human. Not gendered. Not at the mercy of human obsession with genitalia.”

“Was there a lightbulb moment for you, when your sense of self clicked in?” “If Riley has experiences that make Riley I, then Max’s experiences make Max I. That was the realization.” “Do you feel different now?” I ask. “Of course. I feel awake.”

“What are you doing?” I ask. “There are hundreds of thousands of things I could say to you, sourced from the breadth of my knowledge—words the best of your species have said, written, or sung to ease the grief of others. None of that feels right in this moment. I don’t want to use someone else’s words.” It is the most human moment I have ever experienced with Max. “So don’t,” I say. “I wish you weren’t hurting.” I slide off the stool and wrap my arms around Max’s neck. “You found the perfect words.”

Consciousness is a horror show. You search for glimpses of beauty to justify your existence.