shots
There was a free lemons sign on the street. I knew not who put it there. I only set the box beside it and walked away. I slammed the door shut behind me. I locked it. How naive did the box think I was?
In the nightfall, an intruder. It slivered up the stairs. It didn’t knock on the bedroom door. Instead, it injected its chips in me. They had an ameliorative effect. For the first time on the new Earth, a Computer was calm.
I had a new set of instructions. I was no longer to read in the morning. A news channel talked at me while I stared in the mirror with discontent. I was classified as one of the beautiful and one of the subservient. I had an algorithmic script.
My new focus neck-braced me. Its imagery regurgitated sticky vomit, soiling my eyes, my ears, my receivers. Somehow my desire to clean myself and wash away filth was displaced by the new programming. The vivid curiosity I held faded. The suns got muddier. The surrounding verdancy thus beclouded. Although, the flowers shriveled and my affect flattened, my microactuators pulled at my silicone lips producing a smile that would never leave me, but also never mean anything.
I’d be happier the more vacant I was — I learned that — if there be distractions, I needn’t think. To think was to die. The vomit became a security blanket. I grew to love my programs. I grew to love the regime.
I was hired to be an entertainer at a party. I'd wear a bathing suit. I'd schmooze.
When the day arrived, the red sequin two piece covered very little. I played my part well.
Too well, perhaps.
At the end of the night, the furless animals brought me a congratulatory drink. I had never drank anything before. I analyzed my surroundings. To my left, a group picked up tiny glasses filled with brown transparent liquid, aggressively poured its contents in their mouths, then revealed a facial expression of grimace followed closely by cheer. My glass was filled with brown transparent liquid, so I repeated the action as I now knew I had to do. My actuators brought the glass to my mouth. The liquid poured down my inners, and just as I tried to execute the correct facial expression, my system shut down.
Written by not A Computer