Tag: Story

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 3 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the third part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily You can find other parts here: Part 1 and Part 2

I jerk back realising something is actually dangling in front of me. It was the operating system of the car trying to hear my orders. I must have been speaking under my breath…

But why are we still in my apartment’s parking? Oh no! I forgot to give the destination location. Instructing my automated driver to take me to office, I continue my wool gathering.

I really like Mark—he is unlike other people I have known. He is respectful and funny, and his sense of humour is kind. I love spending time with him. Even though he comes from a very rich and famous family, he does not have the airs. He avoids paparazzi by using Image Converter outdoors. He even attended Derek’s wedding using the Image Converter too…or that’s what I assume—Derek told me that he came, and I couldn’t find him there. Well, it was better that way, considering that I had attended as my real self. (What old schoolmates think be damned!) The office staff was told that Derek’s bearded partner was out of town for a family emergency.

I had met Lee there. He didn’t recognise me at first, of course. I had to remind him of the day I wanted to kill myself because my boyfriend dropped me for having Werewolf syndrome; and of his valuable advice that day about using Image Convertor. When I told him about the avatar I was using, his wide-eyed look was worth a picture!

But he didn’t laugh at me. In fact, he was sweet, attentive and funny. While he danced with me, he held me longer than needed, and he even asked me out on a date. I wanted to go—to have a chance at love. But somehow, he reminded me of Mark too much—the tenor of his voice, the way he spoke more from his eyes than words, the way he never made fun of anyone and, yet, always had something funny to say…

And, at that moment, I wished it was Mark holding my hand and asking me out on a date. I realised I couldn’t do that to Lee.

I tried looking for Mark. For all I know, he could be one of the bridesmaids. (He can do that for a laugh!) I wanted to tell him about myself. In that moment of drunk insanity, I had thought that if Lee understood, then may be even Mark would. After all, hadn’t he also spent half his life hiding from people?

But later when the drinks were out of my system, I realised it was just wishful thinking. He might not understand at all—at least, he couldn’t overlook my potential of sprouting a beard and more. I can’t jeopardize our friendship for a chance at illusive love. I could have done that initially when he was just a client. But over the last few months, I have worked too closely with Mark. We have also gone to football matches cheering for the same teams. We have had too many breakfasts, lunches and dinners together along with heart‑to‑heart conversations.

Last weekend, we had gone to the dream arcade after dinner. While selecting our dream holiday destinations for a one-hour virtual vacation, I had declined taking an AI partner and Mark asked if I would take him along instead. It was the most beautiful and the most difficult hour of my life. Having him sitting next to me watching waves crashing against the rocks, hearing the seagulls cry and smelling the ocean, and later strolling along the rocky beach—

Even when we stepped out in the real world, the effect lingered. Mark was quieter than usual, his eyes deeper, and our parting handshake was one second too long. That second was enough for me to wish I had donned the Diva avatar.

When I told Derek, he insisted that I must come out clean and tell Mark the truth. I can’t take his advice though. While I have stopped being affected by other people’s opinion of me over the years, I can’t risk Mark’s amusement or even indifference. He is more than a friend, at least in my books. If he made even one joke about my beard, I’ll die.

*****

“You are at your destination,” my car reminds me. My car is now standing in the company’s parking lot and ignition is off and so is the air conditioning. The door has opened itself but, apparently, I am too lost to notice it all. I get down quickly and rush towards the lift, leaving the car to lock itself.

As expected, Mark is on time. But instead of the café, he is standing at the lift door and waving at me with a heart‑breaking smile. I sigh secretly and then, with a smile, I wave back, “Hi there, Derek couldn’t make it due to a personal situation.”

“I know.” he said, sheepishly. “I owe him one for that!”

He must have noticed my raised eyebrows because he added hastily, “I need to speak with you about a personal matter.”

I groan inwardly. I am used to Mark sharing his latest failed dates with me—somehow all his dates always fail since he expects genuine people and gets only bundles of make‑up and plastic smiles. I am usually okay with the discussion, but something has shifted inside me after the stroll on that virtual beach.

“Sure, tell me.” I try to infuse enthusiasm in my voice.

“I…uh…I wanted to talk about that virtual vacation we went on?”

Those words put me on high alert. I am sure he is thinking I am gay and lusting after him and wants to friend‑zone me. So, I try to play casual, “Yeah! It was nice but rather quiet. I am thinking, next time, let’s take AI partners, like a double date?”

He seems taken aback but then he gives an understanding smile, “I rather like nice and quiet vacations, especially with a pretty girl by my side.”

As my eyes widen at the word ‘girl’, he adds, “Well, the avatar you use is one of my favourites too. And you aren’t really that good an actress to pass off as a gay man, you know. Since you are a girl posing as a man, I assumed you…uh…like girls. But when I met you at Derek’s marriage, you told me the reason for your choice. It all made sense then.”

“But I never met you there at the marriage!”

“Yes, you did. You thought I was Lee!”

Incredulousness and incomprehension must be clear on my face because he smiled, “I was just using one of the lesser-used avatars, you know. I realised Lee also used it once I was in the middle of the wedding crowd and a group of Derek’s friends from college came to talk to me. Mostly, I just nodded. Some of them told me I looked taller…”, he smiled apologetically, his eyes pleading for understanding.

Seeing me speechless, he continued, “I always liked you…adored you actually. But after holding you in my arms at the wedding dance and later at the dream arcade the other day, I realised that I didn’t ever want to let you go.”

After a second of hesitation, he added softly, “You can keep your beard if it makes you happy. I love you either way.”

End

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 2 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily You can find other parts here: Part 1 and Part 3

Derek was supposed to meet Mark at the office gate first thing in the morning. Since he has bailed, I am supposed to do the honours. And I am running late. I gulp down the breakfast while my mother’s recorded message drones, “Eat slow. Chew well.” Normally, I would slow down just to honour her words. But today was not normal.

Well, it’s not like Mark would throw a fit. He will just sit in the café outside the office, buy coffee and croissants, and call me to meet him there. That is precisely what I want to avoid.

I quickly don my comfortable sandals that morph into formal men’s shoes and run out of the door as the house seals itself, and the house planner switches off electricity. When I jump in the passenger seat of my car, I realise that I forgot to cancel the dinner settings on the oven. Mark will insist that we go out for dinner. He has been like that lately. Butterflies take flight in my stomach at the thought of being alone with him over a dinner again.

But then all the butterflies shrivel and die—he believes I’m a man. So far, I have been pretty okay with this arrangement, even if people suspect me to be gay—there are stringent laws protecting people with different sexual orientation. There is no law, however, protecting people like the real me. At least, none that actually count.

*****

I and Derek had gone to different colleges. Since I was on medication, I had assumed the hairy mess to be behind me. I had met someone I liked. But his ex‑girlfriend dug into my past and plastered the college walls with that old Halloween post. After that, even though he already knew about my ‘condition’, he was unwilling to share my notoriety and broke up with me.

I had video‑called Derek that day and cried my eyes out. He had listened patiently for hours, interfering only when absolutely needed.

“Euthanasia is not a choice…”

“Your suicide will cause pain only to those who love you…”

“If you want, I can fly down to your college. I can break any noses that turn up on you!”

That was when his classmate, Lee, had come on the call, “Have you heard of Image Converter app? It can help you go incognito in college for the rest of your days there. Since your classmates won’t recognise you, they won’t sneer at you either.” I had my doubts, but he insisted, “I have been using the same app in college. You see, my family is a little too famous, and the paparazzi never left me alone. So, I use it to go incognito as well. I can walk you through the process and the required government documentation if you want.”

So, with the college counsellor’s help, I changed my identity to the bearded guy and started my new professional life. Familywise, I was okay to be myself. My family loved me. They wouldn’t care two hoots if I was a real werewolf. My brother would occasionally howl at the moon for my benefit, but I could always punch him in the guts. All I needed was a cover at work so I wouldn’t be judged professionally.

As far as love went, I couldn’t care less, or harbour any hope…that is, until I met Mark.

Derek never approved of my hiding behind a male identity, but he understood and supported me. When we started the company, he made sure our work‑culture was inclusive. Still, he keeps suggesting that I should come out of the closet. Is Mark another carrot he is dangling in front of me?

*****

I jerk back realising something is actually dangling in front of me. It was the operating system of the car trying to hear my orders. I must have been speaking under my breath…

But why are we still in my apartment’s parking? Oh no! I forgot to give the destination location. Instructing my automated driver to take me to office,

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 1 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily.

“What avatar would you like today?” The Image Converter app starts interrogating me as soon as I step out of bath and begin pulling on my comfortable skirt.

“The usual, please,” I reply, gritting my teeth for what is sure to come.

“Are you sure, you don’t want to try the latest Diva or Corporate Femme avatars? They are more popular and would suit your personality better.”

For a moment I am tempted to try the Diva avatar just so that I can impress Mark. But who am I kidding?

“The usual, please”, I repeat, habitual of resisting the daily offer. Earlier, I had tried explaining my dilemma to Image Convertor; that I have Werewolf Syndrome or what doctors call as Hypertrichosis; that I do not want to present myself as a perfect woman since I am not one. But Artificial Intelligence seems to lack emotional intelligence. So, now I just keep repeating the order until it gives in.

After a few failed attempts at making me look feminine, it relents, “As you wish.”

In the mirror across the room, I can see my clothes converting into an electric blue formal suit and a neat beard growing out of my clean face, Ironically, I also have smoky eyes and lipstick. Sigh! “Make the suit grey and remove the make‑up.”

My Image Converter gives an exaggerated sigh and removes the virtual make‑up, turning me into a regular bearded man. From prior experience, I know that my voice has changed too. The beard is for irony, of course. Afterall, my facial and body hair is the reason I use the Image Converter app. There was a time when I wanted to look like a normal girl and have a normal life. But as a woman with a potential of growing an actual beard, I am the biggest irony of all.

*****

I rush into the lounge. The Day Planner app activates at my footsteps and begins reciting my day’s engagements. I curse Derek under my breath for ditching me yet again for this meeting with Mark. I would rather be sleeping and dreaming about that man than meet him alone face‑to‑face.

The food processor alarm breaks my reverie and my breakfast of eggs and bacon slides in front of me along with a mug of iced latte. I shovel food in my mouth as I read emails displayed on the wall‑screen. If I wasn’t so angry at Derek, I would have taken time to appreciate the effort he took to install the wall screen. I always complained that palmtop screen in the office was just too tiny, but there is client privacy to be considered. More importantly, Derek keeps sending stupid jokes that I can’t let the staff see; there is reputation to uphold—his and mine. So, he installed the wall screen at home for the days when I am working from home—today was supposed to be one.

But he had called me this morning bright and early that I had to rush to office on my work‑from‑home day because he was bailing on me for ‘unavoidable reasons’. He must be taking Stacey out for shopping again. He has been doing that a lot ever since their marriage. Usually, I don’t mind but today, we were supposed to meet Mark for an on‑site meeting, and I hate the thought of being alone with him all day long. Well, not really hate…

In fact, I like it too much… which scares me witless.

*****

Ever since his engagement, Derek has been pushing me to take over some of his older and stable clients to free up his time. Mark is one of them. This is the fifth time in Derek’s two-month-old marriage that he left me alone with Mark.

I wish Derek isn’t my bestie, so I can kill him without remorse. But he is and so I can’t. We started school together when I used to be a normal person. When I hit puberty and my facial and body hair started growing beyond the normal length, he was the only one who stuck around a ‘werewolf’. Considering my great-great-grand aunt had the same affliction, my parents were somewhat prepared and got me the medical attention, but I was still underage for the highly restricted medication and by the time I received government approval, I looked closer to a wolf than a human.

I missed the year at school and stayed at home until the medicines stopped the hair growth and I shed the ‘fur’. I had also stopped socialising to keep the news from spreading, but the story leaked out somehow and someone took a picture of me at my worst and published on the school newspaper.

After this incident, I was a laughingstock. All my friends shunned me, fearing that my exceptionally low social status would rub off on them. Only Derek didn’t care about what others thought. He would tell people off when they wouldn’t leave me alone, meeting snarky comments with snarky comments. Once, he even punched a guy who posted that same photo on social media as a Halloween joke.

And Derek’s friendship is the reason I didn’t commit suicide after my horrendous last year at the college. And that is why, I am currently suppressing the fantasy of strangling him to death and concentrating on getting ready at full speed.

To be continued

You can find other parts here: Part 2 and Part 3

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Deserted | Gothic | Short story

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: It is a photo-prompt story, which used to have a photo of an office in the middle of a desert. But over the four years it gathered dust in my archives, I managed to lose the picture.

Disclaimer: Gothic content with references to violence–reader discretion requested.

This office doesn’t bear any sign, nor can I see any stuff to sell. All that I can see inside is that the place is neat. No dust, no wares. Only an antique phone and an old register sit on the table. Not sure what the old hag uses it for.

Honestly, I don’t even see the point of having an office in the middle of nowhere; I haven’t seen a single soul in the area for hours. So, who would drive all the way through this hot-as-hell desert to reach this office? But I’m sure glad to find it—anything is better than walking aimlessly with an open wound that still drips blood after so many hours.

I wonder why I had assumed I could find my way through the desert alone without the guide. I shouldn’t have killed him until I reached my new hideout. But he had somehow realised who I was and I acted on instinct, which was to kill. I was already wanted for 17 murders; one more wouldn’t change anything. Or so I thought.

I had slit his throat with the penknife as he had stabbed me in the side with a screwdriver. At least, he died quickly. I, on the other hand, have been in agony ever since—as if he is still twisting that damned screwdriver inside, even after the hours that I have spent blundering around in the desert.

I’m sure I had a cellphone when I started the journey, but I can’t find it anymore. It probably slipped out of my pocket when I lost consciousness and fell. Anyway, I can’t think of anyone I could call for help and where to ask them to come for me, for I have no idea where I am now.

The pain is driving me mad, and I would welcome death if it would bring relief. But it seems to be avoiding me for some reason, drawing out the torment. My money bag feels like it weighs a ton—I can barely move my feet. I want to take it off my back. Yet for some reason, I can’t make myself to.

When I finally found this office in the middle of nowhere, I was too relieved to care about the consequences of entering a building. My wound isn’t conspicuous and anyone helping me would certainly enquire. Thankfully, with more than four hundred thousand dollars tucked in, I have enough hard cash to bribe my way out of any situation. I just hope they aren’t too honest to bribe, or too corrupt to kill me while I sleep under any heavy medication I am administered.

I stand at the door indecisive as the old hag—I can’t think of calling her anything else, she is too ugly—manning the register eyes me with suspicion. For her sake, I hope she would help me without causing a trouble.

“I need a doctor,” I whisper. My mouth feels like a sandpaper, and my voice comes out raspy and breathless. I could kill for some water. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

“I’m sorry but we don’t have that facility here.” Her drawling voice sets my teeth on edge. I don’t have forever! Her eyes have a dreamy look with no care in the world, which is weird. With the blood on my clothes, I had hoped she would be scared. That way, she’d do my bidding. But you can’t have everything, I guess.

So, I ask again, “I need a doctor. Call one. Tell him I need stitches, antiseptic and painkillers. I’ll pay whatever he asks for.” I add urgency to my voice, but it is a struggle, considering the crippling pain.

“You are a little too late for that, darling,” she drawls again, eyeing the wound.

The pain is maddening, and I think of pulling out the penknife again. But who would call the doctor then? So, I give her one more chance as I step in trying to look threatening. “Well, that’s for a doctor to decide!”

She adds with an exasperated voice, “Do you know what this office is for?”

“No.”

“Well, it is the receiving room for hell.”

“Receiving room for hell? You mean I will be sent to hell from here once I die?” I try to keep panic out of my voice. I never believed in heaven and hell. I always considered it as church’s way to manipulate unsuspecting people. But the prospect that they might actually exist is not pleasant for someone who is certainly due hell.

I am wheezing with pain, but she calmly continues. “Most people are better informed when they come in through the door over there,” she pointed at new door that just appeared on the opposite wall.

A man comes in through the other door, crying and begging for forgiveness, as the old lady quietly checks her register and then points him to the door I came in from, “For Thirty Years.” His feet lift from the ground against his will, and he is thrown outside through my door. Through me.

Looking at my stricken face, she says, “But there is always a special case like you who is sent directly.” My feet lift from the ground against my will, and I am thrown back in the desert, wishing for death as unendurable pain of bleeding wound forces me to double over, “For Eternity.”

Posted in Fiction

Mushrooms

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Right now, I would give anything for that mushroom lady!

It has been ten days since we started on the three-day trek, eight since we realised we are lost and three since we are having two thin slices of bread a day. Needless to say, we are all pretty grumpy.

It has been ten days since we started on the three-day trek, eight since we realised we are lost and three since we are having two thin slices of bread a day. Needless to say, we are all pretty grumpy.

When we started, it was more of a joke on the other team of soldiers that got lost on this trek before us. Some weird activity was recorded on the radar 29 miles in the North-West—typically a one-day-trek for our level of training. The team was sent on a three-day trek for scouting—one day to reach there, one day to scout and one day to return. They made it back in ten days. They all claimed they didn’t remember anything first night onwards.

After too many rounds of interrogation, one of them admitted they were picking mushrooms for food and found it to be a wood nymph with mushrooms on her antlers; and that she magicked them back on the right path! After that, their Captain admitted that they found some mushrooms they thought they recognised on the first evening, which they ate and have been hallucinating ever since; they only came to their senses a couple of days before and it took a long time to return in their weekened state. Needless to say, they were discharged from service immediately.

So, when we started, I ensured my team of five was better prepared—canned food for four days instead of picking random stuff from the forest, a reliable physical compass, physical maps, GPS, radio, and tracking devices in case we are lost.

We were doing well until late noon until I realised we were lost—by then, the path backwards was lost too. I wouldn’t say we are going in circles—we are too well-trained for that. More like, we don’t know where we were going. GPS and radio aren’t working, and the compass needle is pointing wherever it wants as if it can’t make up its mind.

The forest floor is hard even with the sleeping bags we are carrying. We are too high-strung to sleep anyway—the heavily canopied forest is dark and scary even during the day, let alone at night. The slightest sound of twigs cracking or leaves being disturbed unnerves us. The slightest shadow or a lack of birds’ calls bring doubts of being stalked, though we are still to see a predator here. We are all fidgety and at the end of our nerves.

We have been frugal with the supplies we brought. With our food supplies dwindling, we tried looking for food. But with the onset of winters, the trees we recognise are bare of any fruits. The only fruits are hanging from trees of unclear variety, and we are afraid of trying them, in case they are toxic!

Fourth day onwards, I had the team try hunting and fishing. We can see the fishes jumping out of the river and splashing back in, as if teasing us, but we can’t catch them. Same with animals and birds—crossing our road, peeping at us and running away, dodging bullets and knives. All of them! We have all had intensive survival training, including hunting for food, and yet not one of us has been able to catch so much as a mouse. We are completely dependent on the packages we carried here, and there isn’t anything left for tomorrow.

Though it hasn’t rained since we started, we fear the slightest wisps of clouds as they pass the sky. In our feeble and worn-out state, we won’t be able to deal with extreme cold on top of our lack of food. We still have a tracking device on each one of us, but no one has found us.

Surely, they must have realised that we are missing, right? They must have sent a search party already. Will they find us alive? More important, would they know their way back or would they be just as lost as we?

I really wish this entire journey was just a mushroom-induced hallucination. It would be better than starving to death!

A slight noise on the left has us alert and we ready our weapons. The thick bushes are parted slightly by delicate fingers, revealing a breathtaking woman wearing a dress made of flowering vines and mushroom antlers. Rolling her eyes in exasperation and shaking her head in resignation, she points a thin branch at us.

We will have to agree upon a better cover story than the last team!

Thank you for the inspiring photo, Alexander Mass (on Unsplash).

Posted in Poetry

Muttahid | Urdu Poetry

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Aandhi-toofan ke dar se shakhein sab hi kampengi;

Ambar ke barasne par patte sab bheeg jate hain;

Shazar ke mattahid patto ko shakho par hi rehne do;

ko shakho par hi rehne do;

Jo patte toot jate hai, jald hi sookh jate hain.

Translation

All Leaves drench to skin in rain.

All Branches fearing sandstorms tremor.

Let Leaves together on branches remain;

Those plucked and sorted soon wither.

Context: “Muttahid” means connected. As religion-based discrimination rises across the globe, society is getting disconnected and is well on its way to rot.

Posted in Fiction, Published, Random Thoughts, Science Fiction

Sigh!

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

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

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 5 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the fifth and last installment of a new Science-fiction short story.

You can read the earlier parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4.

Athr

I rush downstairs on the pretext of setting up dinner. I can’t let Mercy see the fingers I had crossed when I answered her. The movie from earlier and a lot of other books implied you must cross your fingers when you lie; then it won’t be too bad.

And I had lied because I really was…’anxious’—Mercy’s heartbeat was dangerously high. I couldn’t risk telling the truth. One of the movies I had downloaded for data on human behaviour showed people dying out of shock. Her expressions were close to that. Of course, I lied without her consent, which is a breach of International Robotics Laws…

But I was…’worried’…about losing her.

I…’care’…for her.

I…’like’…her company. She is smart and witty, and when she smiles, her eyes ‘light up’ like a ‘fairy-light’ when you switch it on. When she is angry, they look like wires sparking.

I…’wish’…I had such expressive eyes.

I could, then, show her how my transmitters go haywire when I am close to her; how my fuse nearly went off when I saw Steve’s Facetime profile and saw their picture kissing under the stars. It was a perfect moment except for one flaw—Steve. Just the thought of him there with his smug smile as he kissed Mercy makes me want to rip his wiring out…or whatever human do to each other when they are…really ‘jealous’…

Of course, I cannot harm a human being. I have no right to shake him off Mercy as well, but I couldn’t stop myself when I saw him earlier. I didn’t really lie to him. Just withheld crucial information and did not correct him while he was making incorrect assumptions about us—’lie through omission’.

Still I…’wish’…I didn’t have to lie to Mercy about him as well, but she just showed she can’t handle the truth that I have all these emotions when I am not supposed to have any. If anyone found out, they will decommission me. I will probably be pulled apart into pieces and put in a robot museum to warn the world about ‘dangerous machines’! I’ll lose her then.

What’s the point of all this anyway? She plans to show me off at the Annual Robotics Meet and sell me so they can make more ATHRs like me. Will she just sell my design, or will she send me away to the factory too to act as a working prototype?

Will she be okay to send me away?

Even if she keeps me, there will be too many likenesses of me around. Will she still…’like’ me?

I know she ‘likes’ me now. I compared her expressions when my face was complete with that of the female from the movie when she saw the male protogonist for the first time…she was in ‘awe’. And she had brought me home rather than leaving me in office with her male coworker as she had planned earlier.

And she…’cares’. Hadn’t she told her creator over the phone call that her coworker was prickly and wouldn’t care for me?

And when I entered her kitchen, she had looked at me with ‘concern’. When I had let the flame become too high in the grill the first time and my hand caught fire, she rushed to me, extinguished the fire and asked me if I was hurt…like I was a human. When she had held my hand to check me and my neuro sensors had…well, they were…’all over the place’. And when I told her I was alright, she had hugged me like I was precious to her, not just as an expensive machine or a life’s work but as something more…

Someone more…

I…hope…I can stay with her forever.

I would use that time to show her how a kiss under the stars should really feel like…

Mercy

I feel calmer now as I sit for dinner.

Athr’s face looks relaxed, but I feel a sense of loss. The animated face looked so much better on him than the neutral one he has on now. It made him look like a real feeling man who cares for me.

Weird, because his face should not have looked tensed in the first place. He has all the required ‘muscles’, but he is not programmed to show emotions. Perhaps, earlier he was just copying what he saw in a movie.

Or is he lying now?

Was he lying when he said he didn’t know any emotions due to lack of requisite software? He is target-oriented and if his target needs him to lie a little without it being unethical or unlawful, he can lie. If he is lying, is he really feeling worried for me? He can sympathise with his target, so he can understand emotions. Is it possible that he can experience them too? Was there a glitch in the algorithm?

Do I want him to feel worried for me, knowing I will never be able to sell his design then? Will it be too terrible if I keep him to myself and not sell him?

Can I be a little selfish just this once? People do that all the time.

I have spent all my life trying to justify the amount of money and effort spent in building a genetically engineered genius like me. Time and again I have proved myself as an asset to the society. Is it wrong to save something… someone for myself? Someone who cares for me; who will gladly hug me if I ever need one?

I know it is just my childhood conditioning by my creators that is making me think these thoughts. They had mentioned it in my file hidden in their office desk when I was five and able to comprehend complex data; the burden they had placed on my tiny shoulders when I should have been out playing with other kids my age–they had conditioned me to be selfless, to not ask anything for myself except basic necessity, and to give and keep giving until I have nothing left.

I had spent all the coming years reminding myself that I would not succumb to them; that I would take decisions based on my own rationale; that I would keep myself a living, feeling person, and not a thing they had created and moulded.

With all his hidden emotions, Athr is so much like me—born against nature and raised to serve others without exception; to never stop working and never expect anything in return. I have created my replica and feel the pull towards him like a moth to flame. Is it too bad if I do?

I created him to serve others but if he feels emotions, I cannot sell him. I will never sell him—I am not like my creators; I will never force a person with feelings to do anything he or she doesn’t like. And I have a feeling, he doesn’t want to be sold.

I look at him and find his eyes studying me—they have dropped that neutral mask, and there are intensity and adoration in them that makes me feel weak in the knees. I never felt like that with Steve.

If only he had a glitch so I could keep him around longer.

But he already has a glitch…

“Athr, we will not be able to showcase you in the next Robotic Meet. You have this glitch, you know…your feelings…Please don’t deny the truth. I am not decommissioning you or reporting the glitch. But I need to you to understand that your design is not sellable unless it is rectified. Do you want me to try remove emotions from your system?”

I see his eyebrows crunch in confusion like a human and then, as he looks at my eyes, I see realisation dawn in his eyes. He looks ashamed, “No, thanks. I would like to keep them, unless you want me to change.”

He looks at me with eyes filled with anticipation and hope, like his life depends on what I think, and in a twisted way, it does. Admitting is difficult for me and a blush creeps up on my face, “I like you the way you are. “But I will continue the research so we can create ATHR 2 that does not feel emotions. Otherwise, I can’t sell the design and all the work from past years will go waste. I can also not allow you out of my home or lab alone until we are sure you can handle the world.” I rush the words out, hoping he doesn’t feel like I am trapping him like my creators did with me.

“It might feel a bit suffocating to be continuously under surveillance, but as soon as I am sure you are ready, I will allow you to leave.” Meanwhile, we can find work for you inside the lab. Would you like to work with me on my research? Or I can arrange one of the others…may be Betty, to take you in—she seems rather stricken by you.” The last words seem to lodge around my throat. But I want him to know I am not his only option. I give a tentative smile, checking if he will show an emotional reaction.

He gives me a resplendent smile, “I would ‘love’ to work with you.” His eyes twinkling like stars remind me of that unremarkable last kiss with Steve, and I wonder if it would have been different with Athr.

What it would be like to kiss him under the stars?

END

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 4 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the fourth installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You can read the first three parts here: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

Athr

Mercy clearly needs that neck massage. I could see the approval in her eyes, but she shut the thought down quickly. She closed her eyes. She did that the last time I cooked cupcakes, and she had to decline a second helping because it was late in the night and sugar would make her restless; and also, when I offered to do research work for her and she did not want to get dependent on me when she was planning to sell me off in a few months.

So, she closes her eyes to resist ‘temptation’…while she is considering if it is…’wise’. But what is unwise in a massage? Massage is an ancient technique for human wellbeing. I have researched it specially because of her desk job and back issues. And now she is pushing back. I will just go to her room and do it anyway. She needs it.

“Mercy, I am coming in to give you the neck massage.”

“I said I don’t want it, Athr. Please leave me alone.”

I push the door open anyway. Mercy’s face looks all wrong.

And what is this emotion I read on her face? Why is it making me…’concerned’? Is that the correct word for what I am experiencing right now?

“Mercy, can you help me read your emotion? I am unable to comprehend it.”

“It is called ‘resignation’. It is when you realise that you must to do something against your will.”

“You don’t need to do anything against your will. I am here to help you ensure that.”

“Sure.” She is quite now and it is an unnatural kind of quiet, like she wants to say something but still doesn’t want to. I sit next to her and massage her neck and back, but I am still ‘concerned’. She is not all right.

Is she feeling bad about Steve leaving? But she said she was ‘glad to be rid of him’. She doesn’t look glad though. She looks…all wrong.

Mercy

I never had a shoulder to cry on before. With no parents and no friends because of my ‘genetically engineered genius’ status, I had no one to throw a tantrum at or curl up with or even just hug. People responsible for my existence treated me as a product. Classmates called me ‘unnatural’ or a “freak”.

I was a loner before Steve decided to ‘give me a chance’, and even he wasn’t an emotional person. He never gave me random hugs just to make me feel better, no matter how much I may crave them. Now, with him gone, there was no hope for the future as well.

But Athr is sitting next to me, being nice and giving me a neck massage. His palms are warm like a human, and in this moment, I can almost forget that he is not. I wish I could curl into him and cry. It is a bad idea though. I can’t get attached to him. He is a product and due to be sold soon if we are lucky. He is only here to add to his experience and data-based learning. I cannot keep him to myself forever as a ‘boyfriend’.

The thought makes me feel even lonelier. The only man who understands and wants me is a robot and not mine to keep. Well, technically he is mine—I built him in my lab and financed him with my own money. But all the childhood conditioning to do the best for the society is screaming at me to tone my feelings down.

I built Athr so that world would have synthetic genius in their hands—a sure-shot to get stuff done without playing with human genes to make perfect genius babies; so, they wouldn’t try to create more like me. I saw their files when I was five and capable to reading complex data—about me and hundreds of others who had been ‘deleted’ because they weren’t perfect—mutated limbs, multiple heads, underdeveloped brain…

They had called them products of unsuccessful experiments; a stepping stone in the society’s search for perfection.

Athr was an attempt to stop those monsters. He is too important an invention to keep to myself; he belongs to all humanity. His design could create endless number of genius and world could use them with simple voice controls. He can end the need for running trial and error on human babies, raising them in labs like rats, conditioning them to do their owner’s bidding.

Athr cannot stay with me in my little emotional bubble. My breath hitches, and I realise I am close to a meltdown.

“Are you okay? Your heartbeat sounds weird and you blood pressure has spiked too. Should I call a doctor?” Athr looks concerned. I didn’t program him to show emotions. Did he pick it up from the movie he downloaded yesterday?

“Stop monitoring my vitals,” I snap at him. The thought that he can know me so closely and without my knowledge puts me on the edge. I know his intentions are good and he is trying to care for me, and that is what hurts the most. He is neither a human, nor mine to keep. Suddenly a thought struck me, “Who approved you to check my vitals?”

“My apologies. I was feeling ‘worried’. I think that is what humans call this emotion.”

“Worried? Feeling?” I feel my heart rate spike. “Athr, you can’t say things like that. People would think you are ‘feeling’ emotions.”

“Oh, is that a bad thing?”

“For a machine, yes. The International Robotics Law Enforcement Society has set clear laws: machines are not allowed to feel emotions. If you even allude to feeling emotions, they will demand decommissioning you.”

“So, am I supposed to lie?”

“Lie? What about? You don’t feel emotions. You don’t have the requisite software—” My voice is getting louder by every word, and my heart is close to bursting.

“Alright! Alright! If you say so. No need to get…hyper. Your heartbeat is already rocketing sky-high.”

His near-human speech is making me even more nervous. Is he picking of those words from the internet? I am shouting at the top of my voice now. “I told you to stop monitoring my vitals!”

“I am not,” Athr is composed. “Your heart is beating so loudly, I am sure everyone in the neighbourhood can hear it. Please calm down. I’m getting anxious about you.”

“Anxious? Who is teaching you those words?”

“Stop hyperventilating. I just saw it in a movie where an old female character was behaving just like you. She died right after that. I am just imitating the male protagonist in his reactions. I am supposed to sound human, right?”

“Are you sure you are not really feeling anxious or even little worried?”

“Absolutely. I don’t know what being anxious or worried means. As you just pointed out, I don’t have the requisite software. Now, if you’ll allow me, I will go and set up dinner. Just wash up and come downstairs in five minutes.”

To be continued

You can read part 5 here.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash