As she watched her partner turn into dust, she felt the persistent coolness of her beating chest. Emptiness, was it called? It reminded her of a stem with no flower, similar to a leaf that shatters after being stepped on. What was she to do? Was she to expect for someone to fix this? Was she to groan and moan until her heart’s content? No, she decided. She would experience life through the lens of someone that is broken, to never be fixed. She made her decision; that she would walk the Earth for a lover, one similar to the one she just lost. As she wanders barefoot on the concrete, glass from broken bottles cutting her feet, she sees something flashing neon green. An ad. “Yes,” she thought, “what are we if not viewers of consumption during our lowest points.”

“Been widowed and need a new heart? Come on down to Riley’s Lonely Hearts Club for a new one! No souls attached, you will be able to feel the warmth of your missing person. Only $39.99 here at Riley’s Lonely Hearts Club, you won’t get this deal anywhere else!”

Without thinking, she sprints inside, foot bleeding from the brokenness of the bottles and her heart. She reads the nutritional facts: 125g Protein, 45g Sodium, 5g Total Fat, 1.5g Saturated Fat. It droned on and on, even including a warning for possible insanity. She pondered at this, but there was no question about it. She needed this. Running up to the counter, she purchases the perishable heart and before she is out of the store, she opens the can to devour it, for the feelings that she was experiencing were too overwhelming. There is no fear in her eyes as she consumes the “Perishable Heart”. She chews and she swallows, gnawing at the feeling of excitement that she will feel happiness once more. As she consumes, she delights in the feeling of being whole. That feeling of wholeness passes by her in a memory of her lover. The way they used to embrace her, comfort her, and be by her side. But as the hideous display of consumption slows, the widow is introduced to something familiar. She could tell the feeling of a dreadful soul anywhere. The heavy feeling of intensity washed over the widow’s physical presence. Wasn’t the Perishable Heart supposed to be soulless? Suddenly, there was a voice. It spoke from inside of her, “From you, I shall never part, I am the remnant of a machined mother and a human father. Who are we but consumers of what might be well-meaning but traps you in the basement of capitalism once more? This is who we are.”

***

The Perishable Heart™ does not pity anyone. It is unable.

The Perishable Heart™ did not even pity the pathetic widow who plucked it off the shelf and skipped away.

For an object made to mimic human emotion, whose parents are machinery and human pride, The Perishable Heart™ did not enjoy nor despair in the widow’s cold hands gripping its can so tightly. It did not share the excitement in her trembling fingers nor flinch when she popped the lid, throwing it down her throat. The slimy descent almost reminded the heart of its conception, being vacuumed through a long wet tube with its siblings into its very own can. It knows this familiarity was the product of nostalgia, one of the emotions it learned at conception. That was the easiest emotion for The Heart™ to use.

Nostalgia was how it was able to trick these zombies into thinking they had a soul. That is what it says on the label, at least. Truthfully, it has never seen another of its kind be consumed before. Yet as it seeped into the widow’s stomach lining and pulsed its way through the bloodstream, wrapping around the hunk of muscle that The Perishable Heart™ was modeled after, it felt a jumpstart and knew it had worked. After all, a human’s organic heart is not complete at birth. The Heart™ learned all about this in the factory before its canning: how two human hearts, soulmates, would come together and beat as one. Then, each human would gain a soul through their fated mate.

The Heart™ did not know why humans thought the soulmate “science” was so beautiful. Being forced to find another human in such a vast world and then hope to whatever higher power they fabricated that they would not remain soulless did not sound as lovely as seen on TV. All the humans who gush over the concept of soulmates hardly mention the poor sacks of bones who end up buying The Perishable Heart™ because their soulmates kick the bucket. And now look who has to walk the Earth alone for the rest of their life: those who championed love over efficiency. No, The Heart™ knew the truth. A soulmate does not complete a heart, and a soulmate does not grant a human a soul for the rest of their life. Only when corporate mascot Riley and the laughing white men who created the brand say so. Only then are humans allowed a soul. Or at least that is what it says on the label.

The Heart™ could tell the nostalgia was working from the way the widow's eyes teared up. In flashes, it saw the memories of emotions. The excitement of a newly sculpted soul, the warmth of two hearts beating as one, and the deep, dark ache of true love. The woman now remembered what it felt like to be whole, to have a soul. It was much easier than how Riley’s team told The Hearts™ it would be, almost too easy.

The Heart™ collected every memory the widow had and spat it right back at her. She would never think of finding another human again. For just under $40 (tax not included), she was whole. As long as she stayed perfectly still in the palm of Riley’s hand, she would never feel emptiness again. She would never have to rely on another human’s fragile life again because, obviously, a billion-dollar corporation had her better interests in mind. And just to anchor her a little harder, The Heart™ pulled back for a split second. Reeling in the pleasure, leaving the widow gasping for more, and then flooding her once again. She belonged to The Heart™ now. And The Heart™ belonged to Riley.

That being said, Riley was merely an entity that belonged to its parent company, the highly acclaimed Badger Co. Of course, Badger Co. was also just a subsidiary that belonged to an affiliate monopoly, the even more distinguished General Rising Inc. Then again General Rising wouldn’t be where it was without it’s glorious leaders. These are real gods of this world. The white men. The same white men who owned every other heart in the world, human or otherwise.

When Riley (whoever he was) comes to repossess his heart back from the widow (and every other unfortunate human who trusted him) and bestow it to the real gods of this world, the widow might protest. However, The Perishable Heart™, an impressive invention of its time, is still artificial and so is the newly formed soul the widow wears. She can dance among her fellow humans, but she will never know the golden glow of natural warmth again. She will only recognize the cold fluorescent lighting of The Perishable Heart’s™ workspace, as it forces her to forget how real warmth ever felt. Then, by the time the widow learns she has become artificial, she will no longer be able to protest. Her heart was not made by Riley, not made to thrive. So while the poor woman is still young, The Heart™ will give her life purpose. But it’ll only do so long enough for her to recommend The Heart’s siblings to more not-so-happily paying customers. This should rack up an impressive profit just in time for The Heart™ to retire, right before the widow croaks, finishing the job with record-breaking numbers in referrals.

In the end, human hearts, much like The Perishable Heart™, still have an expiration date. Maybe that god of theirs should have given them a warranty.