Pseudo-Ceramic DM for an ENnies nominee!
- Thread starter alsih2o
- Start date
Tolen Mar
First Post
reveal said:Yup. Spelling and grammar do count, as it should.
I usually look over my stuff 2 or 3 times before posting and I still usually end up making a mistake or two... or three.
Hehe..the problem isnt spelling, its missing paragraphs. Even if I got a chance, it wouldnt help, everyone else did so much better than I. We'll see how the vote falls. Good luck everyone.
Memories
“It's just another time in history when society refuses to grow,” said Greg. He closed the refrigerate door with nothing to show for his search. Karen admired his shirtless physique as he turned toward the group in the living room with his dog tags jangling. “It's like a kid on the first day of school clinging to his mom, clinging to the security of home. It happened a long time ago when men wanted to marry men and women wanted to marry women. Now, a third of society is same sex marriages and no one thinks twice about it. It used to be black people couldn't sit with white people. Even further back than that, black people were slaves and there was a civil war fought to free 'em. But I'll be damned if my future wife is caught in the cross fire while people get used to the idea of other people having prosthetic limbs controlled by computers in their brains.”
“Ah, but Karen could use that arm to become a great pitcher, or quarter back, or boxer. That would take away jobs from natural people,” said Ken. “Why, I bet you didn't realize she could kill with it. She's armed and dangerous, so to speak.”
Greg tilted his head back with a slight grin (1) and then suddenly swiped a gun that was lying by the computer. “I'll give you armed and dangerous,” said Greg with no hint of a smile on his face now.
“Geez, Greg!” exclaimed Karen. “What are you doing? I told you, no guns in my apartment and Ken was just kidding!”
“Five points if you hit the gnome on his head,” said Sandy as she pulled a ceramic garden gnome off of the floor and put it over her husband's head (2). “Ten if you miss and hit my husband instead.”
“Sandy!” shouted Karen. “Don't encourage him!”
“What if I just take both of them out?” asked Greg. A stream of water spurted out of the gun, soaking the gnome and Ken.
Karen tackled Greg to the ground shouting, “Don't do that to me! Where did you get that, and how did you know it was a water gun, Sandy?”
Greg deftly rolled over on top of Karen, and pressed his lips against hers. She barely heard Sandy laughing and saying that Ken had found it in a joke shop and couldn't resist getting it. When Greg let her come up for air, she stood up and said, “I don't know why everyone thinks my fear of guns is funny. You know how many accidents happen because of them?”
“It's funny because you're gonna marry Greg who's obsessed with guns,” said Ken. “I hope he takes you hunting' or somethin' so you get comfortable with them.”
“No hunting! If I had to kill my own food, I'd be a vegetarian.”
“Let's go, Ken,” said Sandy. “Judging by that kiss, I'd say they were ready for some alone time before Greg goes back on duty.”
“Kiss?” asked Ken. “Is that what they were doing? I won't tell you what I thought it was.”
“We appreciate that,” said Greg.
“Don't let the bastards grind you down,” said Ken.
“Never,” said Greg.
“Call the next time you're in town,” said Sandy.
After the door closed on their friends, Karen blurted out, “I don't want you dying for me either. Not very many people even know about my arm.”
“The Naturalists will find out and come calling on you if they get the chance. Fortunately, the companies who make the cybs can give them all sorts of helpful additions, and hopefully, the Naturalists will be taken out before they get to you.”
“But isn't that one of the Naturalists' points? The cybs will become too powerful?”
“Kare, I've seen the Naturalists try to take out little kids on the street just because they had a fake arm or leg. The cybs didn't start making weapons until they were forced too.”
Karen's eyes grew wide, and then abruptly she said, “How many points do I get for lifting the gun off of you when you were smooching me?” She got one spray in before turning to flee to the waiting bed.
*******
Ten Years Later
Three shots rang out from Karen's gun and three bodies slumped to the ground. “Why'd you do that Commander?” asked a giant squirrel, sitting back on its haunches.
“You know why I killed them. All of them could be identified.”
“You're such a bot. I don't see why I have to take orders from you. You're no more cyb than this Model 4 sitting on my back.”
“ClearHost says I'm a cyb and that's all you need to know. What do you care if I was able to arrive at the same conclusion as fast as you? You didn't put your chip in a very useful body for today.” Karen lowered her gun and felt hollow as she looked at the dead bodies. Might as well be a bot, she thought. I never seem to have feelings like I should.
“This is Carnival Day, so I'm disguised.”
“Right. Like a giant squirrel is something other than a bot.”
“But my rider looks human. Besides, I arrived at the conclusion faster than you. I was just planning on gnawing them to death with my mammoth teeth, but you had to take away my fun.”
Karen rolled her eyes and started glancing around the clutter in the room. “Anyway, our tip off was wrong. I wonder where our target actually is.”
“Maybe he's out enjoying Carnival. It looks like they were waiting for someone or something judging by the card game and all the cigarettes smoldering.”
Karen continued searching the room. On the bed lay jeans and a t-shirt. Sticking out from beneath the jeans was the bent corner of a photograph. She pulled it out and stonily stared at the picture as images began flashing before her eyes: a birthday cake with candles flaring, graduations with rows of robes, her car rolling over and crushing her arm. Why was there a picture of herself on the bed? The squirrel Grunt was chattering continuously pointing out various clues for why their target was out at Carnival. Finally it stopped and said, “Pretty girl. I wonder if that is a picture of his girlfriend.”
A new image popped into Karen's mind, one that she didn't recall having before but she felt had been part of her memory at one time. It was an image of a tall thin man, short hair and always a sardonic smile on his face. “To Carnival,” she said, placing the picture in her back pocket.
“Don't you mean back to headquarters? We don't know what this guy looks like. No one knows what this guy looks like. Our tip off was wrong. We need to report back.” Karen strode forward without speaking. Out on the streets she cut out the Grunt's chatter and the noise of the floats going by. Carnival was to celebrate the end of the Civil war, the war where Naturalists fought the cybs to to protect the “sanctity of humanity.” With the defeat of the naturalists came pockets of society that refused to believe cybs were here to stay. They blew up labs, homes and hospitals. Anywhere they suspected ClearHost activity. Karen was out to find one of their more notorious leaders, Chant, but no one knew what he looked like, until now. As she scanned the streets, her eyes glanced over a man in an ancient black suit with a stove pipe hat and beard. He was smoking a cigarette and waving his hands as if expounding on something. (3) A memory twinkled and she nearly laughed. Of course Greg would find it funny to dress as Abe Lincoln on Carnival day. Greg? That was his name wasn't it?
“Go back to head quarters,” said Karen to the Grunt. “I'll search on my own.”
“Go back? Thats against policy. I'm not going to be recycled because my commander gave a bad order. It's inhumane to recycle bots anyway. Then our personality is lost...”
“Alright,” cut in Karen. “Join the parade then. I'll let you know when it's time to go back.”
“Oooh, can I do the parade? I've always wanted to.”
Karen watched as the Grunt with the robot on its back rushed toward the parade of characters going by (4). She stared at Lincoln and wondered if her hunch was correct. Before her floated the scene of Greg tilting his head back, lean and shirtless. It hung like a black and white picture meant to capture a moment of time with the essence of the feeling immenating from the scene. Were these memories real? She had never recalled them before. Where were they coming from?
She crossed the street and stood before him.
“Why'd you get rid of your bot cover?” asked the man in the Lincoln suit. “I was too busy watching it to notice you. You had a clear shot at me.”
“Drenched any gnomes in water recently?” asked Karen. She walked passed Lincoln and into the cafe behind him. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her breath became short as she sat at a table in the middle of the cafe. Another memory floated in of feeling giddy one time when she waited for Greg to return from duty. The feelings were confusing her and he was sitting before her with a gun pointed at her before she recalled that he used to be fighting for the cybs.
“I can draw and fire faster than you can pull that trigger, so why don't you put the gun away,” said Karen.
“Strange words from someone who would be a vegetarian rather than hunt her own food,” said Greg. His expression was flat like the sound of his voice.
“Did that day really happen?” asked Karen with moisture forming in her eyes.
“Yes,” said Greg without expression.
Something burned in her brain and emotions mingled with memories like sand swirling through rivers. “What happened? Why are you fighting against the Cybs?”
“They did a good job on you. Of course the hair was easy to change and the face has a slightly different structure. But they left your eyes. I always admired your eyes.”
“So I'm human?”
Greg snorted, “Of course not. You're a Cyb. You always have been since the day of that crash, but I'd say you're a lot more machine now if you can blow me away before I pull this trigger.” The gun still sat between them, but Karen ignored it.
“I don't understand. The car crash is when I got all of my robotics, or so my files claim. But the memories of you don't seem to fit. I look older in those memories and I have not had them before today.”
“Blocked memories are ClearHost's specialties. So are blocked feelings. Your body was blown away by Naturalists and then taken to ClearHost for reconstruction. There never really was a civil war. It was all a farce. ClearHost started the war to build business and power. When I figured out what had happened to you, I joined the small pockets of resistance that weren't part of the Naturalists or the cybs. I never thought I would find you though, or that you would recognize me if I did. Still, I wonder if it would be better to blow you away.”
Karen felt another circuit burn as more memories popped open. Most of them were scenes with Greg. Early scenes of family she had been allowed to keep, but all memories after the car crash had been blocked. Looking at the gun pointing at her, she suddenly felt the old anxiety she used to feel when Greg would toss guns around as if they were nothing.
“Maybe you should,” replied Karen.
Outside, the squirel grunt danced merrily through the crowds. So the commander wasn't a bot after all. It had wondered, but what did it matter what a grunt wondered. He saw the bullet zing through the air towards the commander and then the picture snapped off. The information was already being reported back to headquarters. Too bad, it had liked Karen. It watched as a man dressed in a Lincoln suit emerged with another man wearing jeans and dog tags. It should take out the Lincoln character, but there was no one to command it now. The squirrel hopped unto a float sporting nuts and let Lincoln pass through the crowd until out of sight.
“It's just another time in history when society refuses to grow,” said Greg. He closed the refrigerate door with nothing to show for his search. Karen admired his shirtless physique as he turned toward the group in the living room with his dog tags jangling. “It's like a kid on the first day of school clinging to his mom, clinging to the security of home. It happened a long time ago when men wanted to marry men and women wanted to marry women. Now, a third of society is same sex marriages and no one thinks twice about it. It used to be black people couldn't sit with white people. Even further back than that, black people were slaves and there was a civil war fought to free 'em. But I'll be damned if my future wife is caught in the cross fire while people get used to the idea of other people having prosthetic limbs controlled by computers in their brains.”
“Ah, but Karen could use that arm to become a great pitcher, or quarter back, or boxer. That would take away jobs from natural people,” said Ken. “Why, I bet you didn't realize she could kill with it. She's armed and dangerous, so to speak.”
Greg tilted his head back with a slight grin (1) and then suddenly swiped a gun that was lying by the computer. “I'll give you armed and dangerous,” said Greg with no hint of a smile on his face now.
“Geez, Greg!” exclaimed Karen. “What are you doing? I told you, no guns in my apartment and Ken was just kidding!”
“Five points if you hit the gnome on his head,” said Sandy as she pulled a ceramic garden gnome off of the floor and put it over her husband's head (2). “Ten if you miss and hit my husband instead.”
“Sandy!” shouted Karen. “Don't encourage him!”
“What if I just take both of them out?” asked Greg. A stream of water spurted out of the gun, soaking the gnome and Ken.
Karen tackled Greg to the ground shouting, “Don't do that to me! Where did you get that, and how did you know it was a water gun, Sandy?”
Greg deftly rolled over on top of Karen, and pressed his lips against hers. She barely heard Sandy laughing and saying that Ken had found it in a joke shop and couldn't resist getting it. When Greg let her come up for air, she stood up and said, “I don't know why everyone thinks my fear of guns is funny. You know how many accidents happen because of them?”
“It's funny because you're gonna marry Greg who's obsessed with guns,” said Ken. “I hope he takes you hunting' or somethin' so you get comfortable with them.”
“No hunting! If I had to kill my own food, I'd be a vegetarian.”
“Let's go, Ken,” said Sandy. “Judging by that kiss, I'd say they were ready for some alone time before Greg goes back on duty.”
“Kiss?” asked Ken. “Is that what they were doing? I won't tell you what I thought it was.”
“We appreciate that,” said Greg.
“Don't let the bastards grind you down,” said Ken.
“Never,” said Greg.
“Call the next time you're in town,” said Sandy.
After the door closed on their friends, Karen blurted out, “I don't want you dying for me either. Not very many people even know about my arm.”
“The Naturalists will find out and come calling on you if they get the chance. Fortunately, the companies who make the cybs can give them all sorts of helpful additions, and hopefully, the Naturalists will be taken out before they get to you.”
“But isn't that one of the Naturalists' points? The cybs will become too powerful?”
“Kare, I've seen the Naturalists try to take out little kids on the street just because they had a fake arm or leg. The cybs didn't start making weapons until they were forced too.”
Karen's eyes grew wide, and then abruptly she said, “How many points do I get for lifting the gun off of you when you were smooching me?” She got one spray in before turning to flee to the waiting bed.
*******
Ten Years Later
Three shots rang out from Karen's gun and three bodies slumped to the ground. “Why'd you do that Commander?” asked a giant squirrel, sitting back on its haunches.
“You know why I killed them. All of them could be identified.”
“You're such a bot. I don't see why I have to take orders from you. You're no more cyb than this Model 4 sitting on my back.”
“ClearHost says I'm a cyb and that's all you need to know. What do you care if I was able to arrive at the same conclusion as fast as you? You didn't put your chip in a very useful body for today.” Karen lowered her gun and felt hollow as she looked at the dead bodies. Might as well be a bot, she thought. I never seem to have feelings like I should.
“This is Carnival Day, so I'm disguised.”
“Right. Like a giant squirrel is something other than a bot.”
“But my rider looks human. Besides, I arrived at the conclusion faster than you. I was just planning on gnawing them to death with my mammoth teeth, but you had to take away my fun.”
Karen rolled her eyes and started glancing around the clutter in the room. “Anyway, our tip off was wrong. I wonder where our target actually is.”
“Maybe he's out enjoying Carnival. It looks like they were waiting for someone or something judging by the card game and all the cigarettes smoldering.”
Karen continued searching the room. On the bed lay jeans and a t-shirt. Sticking out from beneath the jeans was the bent corner of a photograph. She pulled it out and stonily stared at the picture as images began flashing before her eyes: a birthday cake with candles flaring, graduations with rows of robes, her car rolling over and crushing her arm. Why was there a picture of herself on the bed? The squirrel Grunt was chattering continuously pointing out various clues for why their target was out at Carnival. Finally it stopped and said, “Pretty girl. I wonder if that is a picture of his girlfriend.”
A new image popped into Karen's mind, one that she didn't recall having before but she felt had been part of her memory at one time. It was an image of a tall thin man, short hair and always a sardonic smile on his face. “To Carnival,” she said, placing the picture in her back pocket.
“Don't you mean back to headquarters? We don't know what this guy looks like. No one knows what this guy looks like. Our tip off was wrong. We need to report back.” Karen strode forward without speaking. Out on the streets she cut out the Grunt's chatter and the noise of the floats going by. Carnival was to celebrate the end of the Civil war, the war where Naturalists fought the cybs to to protect the “sanctity of humanity.” With the defeat of the naturalists came pockets of society that refused to believe cybs were here to stay. They blew up labs, homes and hospitals. Anywhere they suspected ClearHost activity. Karen was out to find one of their more notorious leaders, Chant, but no one knew what he looked like, until now. As she scanned the streets, her eyes glanced over a man in an ancient black suit with a stove pipe hat and beard. He was smoking a cigarette and waving his hands as if expounding on something. (3) A memory twinkled and she nearly laughed. Of course Greg would find it funny to dress as Abe Lincoln on Carnival day. Greg? That was his name wasn't it?
“Go back to head quarters,” said Karen to the Grunt. “I'll search on my own.”
“Go back? Thats against policy. I'm not going to be recycled because my commander gave a bad order. It's inhumane to recycle bots anyway. Then our personality is lost...”
“Alright,” cut in Karen. “Join the parade then. I'll let you know when it's time to go back.”
“Oooh, can I do the parade? I've always wanted to.”
Karen watched as the Grunt with the robot on its back rushed toward the parade of characters going by (4). She stared at Lincoln and wondered if her hunch was correct. Before her floated the scene of Greg tilting his head back, lean and shirtless. It hung like a black and white picture meant to capture a moment of time with the essence of the feeling immenating from the scene. Were these memories real? She had never recalled them before. Where were they coming from?
She crossed the street and stood before him.
“Why'd you get rid of your bot cover?” asked the man in the Lincoln suit. “I was too busy watching it to notice you. You had a clear shot at me.”
“Drenched any gnomes in water recently?” asked Karen. She walked passed Lincoln and into the cafe behind him. Sweat broke out on her forehead and her breath became short as she sat at a table in the middle of the cafe. Another memory floated in of feeling giddy one time when she waited for Greg to return from duty. The feelings were confusing her and he was sitting before her with a gun pointed at her before she recalled that he used to be fighting for the cybs.
“I can draw and fire faster than you can pull that trigger, so why don't you put the gun away,” said Karen.
“Strange words from someone who would be a vegetarian rather than hunt her own food,” said Greg. His expression was flat like the sound of his voice.
“Did that day really happen?” asked Karen with moisture forming in her eyes.
“Yes,” said Greg without expression.
Something burned in her brain and emotions mingled with memories like sand swirling through rivers. “What happened? Why are you fighting against the Cybs?”
“They did a good job on you. Of course the hair was easy to change and the face has a slightly different structure. But they left your eyes. I always admired your eyes.”
“So I'm human?”
Greg snorted, “Of course not. You're a Cyb. You always have been since the day of that crash, but I'd say you're a lot more machine now if you can blow me away before I pull this trigger.” The gun still sat between them, but Karen ignored it.
“I don't understand. The car crash is when I got all of my robotics, or so my files claim. But the memories of you don't seem to fit. I look older in those memories and I have not had them before today.”
“Blocked memories are ClearHost's specialties. So are blocked feelings. Your body was blown away by Naturalists and then taken to ClearHost for reconstruction. There never really was a civil war. It was all a farce. ClearHost started the war to build business and power. When I figured out what had happened to you, I joined the small pockets of resistance that weren't part of the Naturalists or the cybs. I never thought I would find you though, or that you would recognize me if I did. Still, I wonder if it would be better to blow you away.”
Karen felt another circuit burn as more memories popped open. Most of them were scenes with Greg. Early scenes of family she had been allowed to keep, but all memories after the car crash had been blocked. Looking at the gun pointing at her, she suddenly felt the old anxiety she used to feel when Greg would toss guns around as if they were nothing.
“Maybe you should,” replied Karen.
Outside, the squirel grunt danced merrily through the crowds. So the commander wasn't a bot after all. It had wondered, but what did it matter what a grunt wondered. He saw the bullet zing through the air towards the commander and then the picture snapped off. The information was already being reported back to headquarters. Too bad, it had liked Karen. It watched as a man dressed in a Lincoln suit emerged with another man wearing jeans and dog tags. It should take out the Lincoln character, but there was no one to command it now. The squirrel hopped unto a float sporting nuts and let Lincoln pass through the crowd until out of sight.
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
BardStephenFox said:The deadlines are shorter as well.
Thank God for the extra day this time. I totally forgot about it till around 10pm last night. I wrote for 2 hours, then went to bed intending to get up early and finish before going to work. Instead, I tossed and turned for a half hour, then got up and kept going at it.
Way to squeak in there, Eeralai.
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