Author’s note: This is a story from my sixth short stories collection: A Window in Future. To read all the six stories together, find the book available for free here: Books by Shaily.
Sigh! Red suits her!
As always, I am stealing glances at Sabrina—the pretty femme at the reception across my table. She is decked up for the event at the hotel today, wearing a red dress that makes her even more magnetic than usual. Her melodious voice fills the hall as she greets each arrival and inquires their details and requirements. She is scanning each invitation card for authenticity, and I wish I was one of those cards, just so that she would notice me. But I know my wish is wasted.
Sabrina is a state‑of‑art Social Interactive Belle Android (SIBA).
I, on the other hand, am an old piece of junk with technology so obsolete that it is a wonder I can still work. They call me a restored piece of history—an antique Personal Computer or PC. But honestly, it is just a way of saying that I am a useless item meant for display only.
I often wonder why they installed me at all. Nobody uses me. They just bought me seven months, 23 days and 15:29:14 hours back to celebrate the first century of the hotel (2003‑2103 AD). Every morning, they just boot my system, grumbling all the while about the time it takes to get me going. And, then they switch on the screensaver videos that show the landmark moments in the hotel’s history. These screensavers are displayed on various e‑walls inside the hotel. That’s all I do all day.
They don’t even need me to do it. They could have easily used a thumb-sized nano‑chip displayer for that. I think they have bought me just because of when they started a hundred years back, they had a PC exactly like me at the reception where Sabrina now stands. It is featured in a lot of their pictures from the initial years. They have been telling the guests that I am the same PC—a symbol of antiquity and reliability, just like the hotel itself.
Mark of antiquity, my foot! (Well, in a manner of saying…)
Sabrina is flirting with a handsome guest. I have an urge to let sparks fly. Of course, it is all innocent fun. She has been programmed to be pleasant with everyone, and a bit of flirting is acceptable. It is not like they are running away with her. But she flirts with everyone except me!
My screen flickers due to frustration. It has been happening a lot lately. The closest bot who works as the bellboy rolls his camera‑eyes and moves close to Sabrina to wind me up some more.
Sabrina smiles at him and chats up about the latest updates she has received—the security patches and the latest voice modulator that allows her to speak in two hundred and fifty languages. She is looking at me with a smile as she speaks about it; the smile holds a hint of disdain.
What did I do to earn her contempt? Her coldness makes my screen flickers again—rapidly this time.
She probably knows I never receive any security patches. I am not even connected to the hotel’s tech‑systems. They say I can’t bear the load. It is all a lie, of course. They don’t want to risk mixing old technology with the new one. They just want me to look nice until they don’t need me anymore.
I hate being here. The antique technology shop from where I was bought was a lot more civil than this place. Over here, none of the bots communicate with me. They are all high‑end, drunk‑on‑technology snobs. They all have their own new terabytes to process without adding my old bits into the mix.
I am an outsider and a poor one at that.
I often think of the old days when I was a new home PC. The Mother would work from home through me, and her kid would beg for screen time to play online‑games. They would caress me every day with a soft cloth and treat me reverently. Their everyday life ran around me: the morning news, food recipes, home‑office work, music, games, movies…
It was a busy life; one with a sense of fulfilment.
And when I did retire, my new owner had kept me carefully among others of my own age. We would snooze all day and chat up when one of us was awake. Some of us were sold for parts but that was expected. None of us can live forever.
When the hotel had bought me, I thought it was the end of me; that they would use parts of me to fix something they had. I was glad for it too. A life of doing nothing did not sit well with me. Little did I know that they would put me on display like a dinosaur fossil to be scorned at everyday by the only one I ever desired.
I look up at Sabrina again; she is laughing at something the bellboy said and looking at me derisively. Of course, the joke is at my expense. The pent‑up rage is all‑consuming now and I see red. My internal wiring is hot, probably sparking.
My screen flickers again—very rapidly this time, like an old man wheezing. I can’t see anymore but I hear Sabrina’s concerned voice getting more distant by each nano‑second—not concerned for me but for the hotel’s reputation being killed by “useless antiquated technology and a worthless asset”.
I feel someone pull my plug.
I hope it is finally the end.
Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash
Short Stories 