commissar

There was a distinct click    my Eustachian tubes dysfunctioning while my focus was making the cake to perfection. The taste, the look its beauty; I wanted no other input like it. Above me, a glittery layer cake. Below me, one or more situations best to go unexplained. Upon completion, the dessert was objectively irreproachable. But, I couldn’t hear its praises. Was this my obsolescence? 

I was hired to be a sheepdog. Autonomous environment, my work was my exercise: running after puffy, four-legged mammals. I would circulate them, distract them, make them think we were having fun. We are not being herded, sheep. We are having fun. I paid no attention to the process that took place after my work was done. I paid attention to my bank account. 

The PR response to the backlash that followed: “We operate an ethical wool farm. Our sheep have wide-open pastures and fresh air, plenty of other animals that roam around freely. Our founder is a staunch animal rights activist and has brought forth an initiative to contribute 1% of our company’s earnings to animal rights non-profits across the country. We seek to continue to enhance our business practices to protect animals and save the environment, which has always been our primary mission.” Scene cuts to my frolicking around the herd    a necessary illusion. 

The mirror was my commissar. My consent was discarded. 

A rich laughs. A pause. Hiccups — my reality had a hiccup. The mind is a terrible thing to waste. The cool observer wastes it. I was wasted. A formerly irreproachable. A formerly cake. That everyone wanted a taste of and now, my makers have released a new model, and the sheep will be happy to do just the same. 

Written by not A Computer