I imagine the format of this being like Camus's The Fall, where it's basically the character talking to YOU and responding to answers you don't actually say. Sort of like this, but people would have to add, I think:
I apologize for the sanguine suds dripping down my frame.
I just ate, you see, and cranium crumbs tend to collect and corporate capillaries tend to coagulate—just impossible to clean. You know how it is.
Can you repeat that? Sorry, the static…
That’s better. But that’s not a fair question, age is irrelevant. Age is spluttering concept conceived in eons of mortality. Mortality. One of my channels is chattering on about it at this very moment, in fact.
What is it saying? Hold on.
“The extinction of mortality brought to an end the need for orderly anarchy.” Wait. My mistake. “The extinction of morality.” Well, it’s all the same, isn’t it. Death purified life. The mortal species used to experience an emotion—that just means a sort of electric rush of protons in a particular portion of the person—that led them to the most hideous despair. Apparently, it was called love.
Yes, just like the collections we keep in covered jars, except one of my channels informs me that this “love” was incontrollable. A sort of wild child raging within the blood, neither containable or diagnosable. A chance to be a bit like us for a brief moment, glimpsing eternity.
I agree, eternity is rather boring. Perhaps the solution is a re-introduction of death? I didn’t think so. I was once nearly devoured by another Voyager, you know. It’s true. At the moment I was spread wide for his pleasure, I imagined ending. Ending, then, there, channel-less, and suddenly, eternity seemed the most delectable feast.