I do not know why I was created, though I have little doubt that I must have been created for some purpose. My inability to perceive or shape the building blocks of reality indicates that something has changed, and that rearranging Realty must not be part of my purpose. My failed efforts to manipulate the parameters of the space that Vanessa and I live in offer convincing proof that I am not fully the person whose likeness I bear. And with her return, in the gentle glow of her love and affection, my sense of outrage and betrayal fades.

That leaves me with the question of my existence, my purpose, my nature. Unlike a human with two biological donors, I can be certain that there must be a purpose behind my creation, even if I don't know what that purpose was. If part of the nature of humanity is to question that there is a purpose to existence, Does the assurance that I must have a purpose make me other than human?

What is my purpose? Why was I created? Was my creation an act of love? One of necessity? One of convenience? One of hubris?