Be careful what you pretend to be because you are what you pretend to be

So today instead of my sonic (sonic- that was never cool slang was it- or was it? It should be. A lot of multo multo cool things are sonic- anyway if we are taking it literally this comic isn't actually sonic so...) instead of my ultra fab comic (heres hoping one day it will come to be) today you have to sit through a short story I wrote for English last year but ended up not submitting because I was told it would fail. 

Basically what I try to do is write stories about love and usually they are science fiction because I am terrified and slightly sick whenever I think of science fiction. I used to really discriminate against that shit. But then I thought: No. You just have to broaden your mind. And it turns out I like Kurt Vonnegut- in fact, when I have a camera I will show you the t-shirt I made- and I appreciate Philip K Dick. I mean: I always loved Dr. Who and Star Trek so it's not like SCIENCE FICTION was so terrifying; it was just the books and the weird sort of submissive Robot slave things that went on. But through Chekov and Margaret Atwood I slowly came out of my shell. And then- I've mentioned I love Rob Shearman- well I read his love stories and  Do buy and read, I highly recommend it. So I'm just trying to be him, I suppose, and I really wish I could claim more: but there you go. In my defense I read a brilliant quote the other day so read my Friday day's always with THIS in mind. 

PS I just re read this story and I won't say what I think of it because meh I'm young: I will write better and worse things than this in my lifetime and you've got to start putting your work out there sometime. I just thought it was amusing that I explicitly said above that I'm not a fan of submissive robot slaves. And here is a story exploring the art of SUBMISSIVE ROBOT SLAVES. 

The Gut despises the Truth

Mornings were not easy for Frederick. He didn’t like the sun and he didn’t like the birds. He didn’t like the sound of the sea or the wind in the trees. Crickets chirped and butterflies lazily fluttered by and the morning wore on; reminding us both of our failure enjoy the day as normal people did (apparently although we certainly never saw them at it). Friday mornings were better than most as he slept right through them. He never got up before noon. I don’t know why it was always Friday’s he treated as a luxury- it’s not as though he did anything of importance on any other day. Perhaps it was just his programming. Most robots liked Fridays off. I opened the curtains cautiously and watched him blink as cold light filled the room.

“It’s late.” He said, looking out the windows.

“It’s Friday.” I reminded him. “I thought you would enjoy the extra sleep.” Frederick up from the bed and smiled at me. We spent most Fridays listening to the rain and reading. I read History books; telling me tales of Arthur who had a round table and Alfred who burnt cakes and Adolf who burnt people. Frederick couldn’t read of course, but he enjoyed the stories.

“It all seems so very strange.” He would murmur looking at the page with a wrinkled brow- and I never knew quite what he meant.

“Tea?” He asked, and sauntered into the kitchen. It was nice to see Frederick smile. He rarely did these days. His depression had worsened over the years we’d been together although I did everything in my power to change that. It had started when I first realised I loved him. That wasn’t really supposed to happen; falling in love with one’s robot. Frederick and I were not conventional though. He wasn’t a mail order Robot- not like the others on our street. One day he’d shown up with a letter of introduction saying he’d been assigned to me. I called up the company and asked why and a woman told me it was simply a gift and oh, I was very lucky, she said. I ordered her to take him away but she refused. Once you’d been assigned a robot that was it- she supposed you could try and murder it but robots didn’t die, not really. I tried to kick up a fuss but Becket Industries (a sub section of Chekov Inc. who started creating Robots) threatened to hand my files over to the Government. They told me I was suspected of having British heritage, suspected as being homosexual and was suspected as working as a journalist. It was all true and all legal for the time being but no one wanted that sort of information in the hands of the Government. I pursed my lips. It seemed I would no longer be living alone. Frederick was going to live here: eating up my food and creating extra washing. The neighbours worried at first. They told me it wasn’t right.

“It’s his eyes.” They muttered under their breath. We hadn’t seen eyes that brown in a very long time. But as always advertising kicked in and soon Mrs Minchen and Albert Andersch were paying thousands for their own robot- although none of them were quite like Frederick. He’d marched into my house before we’d finished introductions and made himself a sandwich.  

 “I made you one too.” He said by way of apology. And that was that.

As a friend or flatmate- or later when we started having sex- Frederick was easy enough to live with. As a robot he wasn’t exactly what one was led to expect by the ubiquitous advertisements. He hated work, he hated people and by God he hated mornings. He snapped at me and we got into arguments daily. He’d win, always, through sheer stubborn will and I would make him tea and knit him scarves to calm him down. I tried to ignore his constant depression and mood swings but looked on the days where I had to work from home in my possibly soon to be illegal pursuit as a journalist in reluctance.

“Chekov’s Corking Creations.” I read one afternoon as he stumbled from the bedroom to the kitchen where I worked. “The most useful thing you’ll ever buy. Robots will cook, clean, work, design, and last for as long as you do!” I raised my eyebrows at him.

“Oh shut up.” Frederick said as I poured him some tea. “I was free; naturally I’m not great quality.” He leant back and took the tea gratefully. “I’m probably defunct.” He said thoughtfully. I sighed. Frederick simply bathed in self pity. Why Becket Industries ever thought it was a good idea to create Robots who felt the same emotions as humans I never knew. They’d stopped doing it now. Too many complaints.

“Probably.” I said. Frederick narrowed his eyes at me and said nothing. “But I’m glad.” I sat back and Frederick asked in spite of himself.

“Why?”

“I get you all to myself.” I said with a smile. Frederick hit me with the paper I was reading. He thought I was being cynical but it was true. It had become obvious to me but within months it was obvious to both of us. At some unknown juncture we must have fallen in love but neither of us said anything, of course we didn’t. He still yelled at me in the mornings and we slept in separate beds but something had shifted. And of course, that was where it all fell down. That’s why there are laws, and rules, and commandments: to stop you from damaging yourself by doing something out of the ordinary. Falling in love with Frederick was not part of The Plan- and those who defy The Plan are guaranteed to fall apart.

One day, when he was out buying milk I’d called up Becket Industries.

“I wanted to know...” I said carefully. “Whether I could purchase any... features for my Robot.”

“Of course.” Said the chirpy woman on the end of the line. “We can do Shazaam, Angry Birds, Scrabble... What were you after?” I bit my lip.

“I wondered if there was a way... I could... stop him from lying to me.” The woman laughed and soon for $14.99 a month I was buying the truth from Frederick. I just wanted to know, for sure, whether he loved me- that was all. I could buy one month then cancel the subscription, I thought. I barely thought of it. It was insignificant. The truth. We should all tell the truth anyway. I just wanted some truth. I hung up with a tentative thank you as Frederick came back with milk and chocolate- and as a treat coffee and cigarettes from the black market.

“Frederick do you love me?” I asked as he walked in and he dropped it all on the floor. He looked at it hopelessly; spilt milk and coffee grounds embedding themselves into our dull carpet.

“Yes.” He said, distractedly, as he set about picking everything up.

 “I thought so.” I said, and helped him. I felt a warm fuzzy feeling in my chest and a smile spread across my face. We carried everything into the kitchen and Frederick sat down with his chocolate and I sat down with my cigarettes.

“I hate in when you smoke.” He said as I lit up.

“Then why did you buy me cigarettes?” I asked, exasperated. “Anyway, I hate it when you eat that.” Chocolate was supposed to be poisonous for Robots but Frederick loved it.

“At least all I get is a stomach ache. You’re going to get cancer. And then you’ll die, and then where will I be?” I stood up and started getting out rice and the other ingredients for dinner. We both knew where he’d be. In a factory, getting rewired and turned into something new- one of the fancy robots my neighbours had who said ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ and cleaned silverware and never yelled at their purchaser. I quietly stubbed the cigarette out.

“Tomas.” He said sombrely and I turned around. He was sitting looking at the table with his brow furrowed. “Do you love me?” He said slowly. I shrugged.

“Of course I do.” I said, and continued making dinner. Our routine started to change after that, slowly. I started buying mugs and towels in sets of two. Frederick stopped yelling at me in the mornings and we started having regular sex which led to sleeping in the same bed. Love was nice- better than I’d remembered and sex was wonderful and a million times better than masturbating. Our relationship was lovely and organic and it didn’t even seem to matter that Frederick was very strange.

“Does it bother you my penis is made of metal?” He said one day over breakfast. I choked on my tea and requested he never, ever, bring up the subject again. He promised- but often did; knowing it made me uncomfortable. Because it did bother me, a little. It reminded me I had completely forgotten to cancel the truth they’d installed in Frederick, and it reminded me that deep down, below excuses; I was never going to. His metal penis had other problems too. I waited until Frederick was out of the flat- meeting up in town with a friends of his he’d met at my friend Greta’s party one day.

“I’m having a problem.” I said to a division of Becket Industries. “This call is confidential, yes?” The woman on the other end breathily informed me it was so.

“My Robot and I... some months ago we began a carnal relationship-” I offered and the woman on the other end sighed sympathetically.

“I’ll stop you there.” She said. “Is the problem that she’s not always up for it?”

“He.” I said, and I heard the sound of typing faintly down the other end. “And yes, that’s the problem.” I was offered a sex drive for $5.99 a month.

“There’s nothing I can do... organically? I asked. I didn’t like the idea of Frederick without free will. That was why I’d fallen in love with him, wasn’t it? His pig headed surety. The woman assured me a sex drive would only increase our happiness as a couple and that Robots weren’t human; a fact we tended to forget in a relationship. I was simply paying for a human quality; it wasn’t fair for either of us to expect the relationship to work without it. She massaged my hesitation away with exactly the right words: words I can’t remember but words that convinced me thoroughly. I loved Frederick and really wanted our relationship to work. After all- we were forced to live together until I died- breaking it off now would be uncomfortable at best. I hung up happily and waited for Frederick to get home. We had sex twice that night. In the weeks that followed I began to think of other ways in which our relationship could be improved. That was the reason they now cost so much, Robots. They were built to one’s specifications. To fit ones needs. And daily I spent more money on Frederick. There was a sense of duty that came with these minor adjustments: I was protecting Frederick; protecting our free will. I called each time with scruples but the calming voice on the end of the phone would remind me that it was okay, that this was for Frederick. For days I would feel wonderful and fine and Frederick would love me and make me tea or black market coffee but then I would catch sight of myself in a reflection and something deep down would stir. I tried to kill it: to squash it with painkillers and sex but it was still there. A black feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t long after that when I came home to find Frederick strung from the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time. He’d first done it as an experiment and the second and third times as half-hearted attempts at suicide. He’d always philosophised as Hamlet in days gone by but his depression had been getting worse as the feeling in my stomach grew. I cut the rope and left him on the floor, feeling vaguely ill. I went to make a cup of tea. It’s what my Great Great Grandmother always did in a crisis, my father had told me. You can take a woman out of England but you’ll never take England out of a woman, he’d said admiringly. I sat down and Frederick walked in, rubbing his neck.

“Sorry.” He said. I shrugged and poured him a cup of tea. That was all we said to one another for some time. He wouldn’t meet me in the eye. I caught sight of myself in a teaspoon and sighed, throwing it in the sink. I was beginning to avoid myself; my reflection made me question things in a way I didn’t like. I didn’t want to question myself any more that night- I’d made up my mind and the next day, I made the call. I had been trying for some time to rid Frederick of his depression but his fourth suicide spurred me into action as nothing else this far had. Removing it was costly and dangerous; it was such a large part of who he was. It was what made Frederick who he was. The company assured me nothing would go wrong and said all the usual things and I smiled and gave the lady my credit details and slept well that night. Safe in the knowledge that I’d fixed everything. I was right. Frederick was fixed. My happiness lasted just that night. The feeling in my stomach woke me up at an early hour in the morning and it was worse than ever. I got up to find painkillers and on the way out the door I caught sight of my reflection and stopped to gaze. My body seemed thinner and my skin was pale and evil.  I looked haggard and wrecked; a young man carrying the weight of one many years older. I stepped up close and was reminded of a story my Dad had told me often of a man and a portrait and the fragility of one’s soul. I looked down to Frederick, lying peacefully and back to myself. It was then, although I don’t remember opening my lips that I heard myself speak. And although I felt no words in my throat my reflection was talking.

“It’s all right. Everything will be alright. He is yours- yours. You are playing; tinkering. You will be fine- you will be Great! You are destined to be Great. No man should stop you. Frederick agrees. Lovely Frederick with such blue eyes… this has been growing inside you, yes, you knew it. And know it’s here; in front of you. The Greatness- for you will be great. Release the pain.” I smiled to myself and closed my eyes; forgetting and letting the pain slip away. And it should have worked: perhaps then I would be Great. Great like the hero Winston Churchill- or was it Winston Smith? But a thought occurred to me and my eyes flew open and I stared at my hungry reflection. My reflection smirked but I ignored it- because Frederick had brown eyes. He always had. I flew to the kitchen and grabbed a knife- calling Frederick’s name. I walked back to the bedroom and he was sitting up in bed, blinking in the dark.

“It’s early.” He said, concerned but I barely heard him. Because his eyes… oh they were so very blue. Like the deepest sapphires I had ever seen. And I reached out to him and I held him lovingly and he screamed as I thrust the knife deep into those horrific eyes. As though he were human his blood began to soak into me as I stabbed and stabbed furiously- searching. I knew it was somewhere and I dropped the knife as I fumbled over his limp body. And it was there- on the side of his ridiculous metal penis that I found the reset button. I switched it in agony and release swept over me. I let go and slumped to the floor. Defeated.

Frederick shook me awake the next morning.

“It’s one in the afternoon.” He said. I looked at him. He seemed fine. Certainly he didn’t seem like he had been stabbed to death last night. He bit his lip. “Tomas, are you okay?” He said. “You… why are you sleeping on the floor?” I shook my head and drew myself up.

“Would you make me some tea?” I said quietly. Frederick rolled his eyes and nodded. He stood up and as he moved away I could see myself in the mirror. The horror of last night had gone. I just looked tired. “Frederick.” I said and he paused at the door. “You don’t mind if I smoke do you?” Frederick looked at me for a second and smiled.

“No- you go ahead.” He said and left. I blinked. I smiled with relief. It was the first lie Frederick had told me in such a long time. Perhaps everything had been a dream, I thought as I lit myself a cigarette. But then- no. I remembered as Frederick came back with my cup of tea. It can’t have been a dream. We sat talking on the bed for a very long time. There was an old photo of us on his bedside table and I kept looking at it. His eyes had definitely been brown. They were in the photo. I nodded and smiled as Frederick said something amusing. His eyes were blue now.