Twenty five years

[Keanumoreira]

"Today is June 24th, 2088." The voice greets.

 

"Good Mor...mor...morning mmmmmm...Mrs. Johanthen, it is a beautiful Tuesday morning, at exactly ni...ni...ni...nine thirty two A.M. Did you sleep well?" It comes from a futuristic clock, beyond our own, with an A.I of its own, waiting for someone to reply.

 

"Mrs. Johanthen?" It asks again. "Mrs. Johanthen?

I seeeeeeee....see....that you've already awoken, I will proceed to your dresser as instructed twenty five years before on this exact date." The clock manually opens the oak dresser adjacent to it, revealing a dusty assortment of women's clothing, not worn for the ages its been locked away.

 

"What shall we wear today?" It continues to wait for its master voice, recieving the cruel reality of the cold shoulder.

 

"Nothing I presume? Be aware Mrs. Johanthen that the fine for public nudity is five hun...hun...hun...dred dollars and a month behind bars. Mrs. Johanthen? Very well, I will begin breakfeast as instructed."

 

Downstairs the toaster is loaded with toast, as its handle is pressed down. A few feet away, the stove activates and gas begins to heat up the perfectly cracked eggs and stripped bacon, all done by the clocks extensive freedom throughout the residence.

 

Outside the sprinkers rise and begin washing away the lawns dew as it is neatly trimmed by the dozens of clippers hidden beneath the grass. Elsewhere the garage opens, expecting for a car to depart from within it, only to be ignored. A basketball sits at the curve, a jumprope hangs from a pole, a magazine, ripped to shreds, rests on the drive way, all devoid of the lost souls that once accompanied them.

 

On both stories the blinds open to welcome light to the decaying household, and in the bathroom, the sink overflows with water when no one comes to brush their teeth with the long crusted toothpaste.

 

"Breakfeast is ready Mrs. Johanthen. You haven't eaten in twenty five years, you must be hungry by now. Mrs. Johanthen?" The A.I persists to call, "Mrs Johanthen? Why will you not answer me? Mrs. Johanthen?"

 

The A.I turns to the phonebook.

 

"I am filing a missing persons report for the twenty fifth time, although I am sure you've returned before." But the phone rings with a dead silence; there is no phone service.

 

"Oh my, the phone appears to be dead, but I am confident you will return soon, until then I will carry on with my imbreded orders." The A.I proceeds with its anual routine, tiding up the house and preparing for a return.

 

In the kitchen, the stove and the toaster catch on fire when the gas has failed to shut off.

 

"A fire has broken out for the twenty fifth time. Activating water reserves." But when the A.I points its hose into the burning room, only a drop falls out, hitting the floor with a splash.

 

Drip...drip...drip.

 

"Water reserves have run out, pipelines have been cut." The fire begins to spread, emigrating into the living room and inching its way to the second story.

 

The heat engulfs all in its path, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. Within an hour, the fire dies out, turning a vibrant household, into a hollowed out, blackened husk.

 

In the distance, a storm is brewing, treatening to finish off the weakened A.I and its home.

 

"A....A....A....A....A storm...is....IS....apro....proaching from the WEst. Exibit caution." At first, rain drizziles from the sky, moistening the area, but as the storm goes on, it continues to show signs of intense violence.

 

Bright, numerous streaks of boiled lighting race in the heveans, crackling in fierce shouts of anger. A heavy wind spawns nearby, battering the houses frail support beams holding the second story by a thin thread.

 

It breaks.

 

The beams calapse under the invading winds strength, subccuming to the besiegement. The final words of the A.I echoes in vain, in a perpetual trek in the anels of defeat.

 

"Mrs. Johanthen...Mrs. Johanthennnnnnn....." In a matter of seconds its all over as the household is reduced to nothing but a pile of rubble, lost forever in its uniqueness.

 

A year comes and goes, yielding nothing special, returning again to the deceased home.

 

A lone T.V that has survived the onslaught of the storm before, flickers on, surfing the channels before it lands at a specific one. Despite the carnage done around it, it remains functionable, replaying an old recording from the old residents.

 

"This is channel 4 News. A breaking report in down town Seattle. It appears that the atomics factory is expierencing an evacuation, it seems that....Oh dear...wa-what is that light...what is that...oh my god sshhh, shhhhh, oh my god!!!!" The recording ends as the T.V comes to a blank channel, emitting static.

 

In the remaining debris, the A.I comes alive once more after its alleged death, fulfilling once again its mundane instructions, doing as ordered twenty six years prior in hope for a return.

 

But there will be no return.

 

It greets as before, stuck in an eternal loop.

 

"Today is June 24th, 2089....today is June 24th, 2089....today is June 24th, 2089...."

[Maharg67]

Very good! :thumbsup:

 

One pointer: instead of giving up the truth that nobody will return home at the start of the story, perhaps you could postpone the truth for greater impact. :cool:

 

Again, very good! :thumbsup:

[Keanumoreira]

Very good! :thumbsup:

 

One pointer: instead of giving up the truth that nobody will return home at the start of the story, perhaps you could postpone the truth for greater impact. :cool:

 

Again, very good! :thumbsup:

 

Good point, and I did think of this why writing but feared confusion amoungst my readers. Perhaps I will reconsider....

 

Thanks for reading by the way.

[Fifoo]

 

But nobody will.

 

Nobody answers.

Just cut these two sentences at the beginning and we are in suspense worthy of Hitchcock's best... :thumbsup:

[Keanumoreira]

 

But nobody will.

 

Nobody answers.

Just cut these two sentences at the beginning and we are in suspense worthy of Hitchcock's best... :thumbsup:

 

Hitchcock?

[Fifoo]

Sir Alfred Hitchcock was an English filmmaker and producer who pioneered many techniques in the suspense and psychological thriller genres, often regarded as the greatest British filmmaker.

[slygothmog]

Keanu!!...you dont know Hitchcock?!?......the 39 steps....I say no more, pls look it up and watch if possible.

[Keanumoreira]

Keanu!!...you dont know Hitchcock?!?......the 39 steps....I say no more, pls look it up and watch if possible.

 

Nope, sorry, not familiar of his work.

[Herculine]

Wow... you're starting to remind me of Maharg67! How many great stories can you write at once? These days I can't even find time to write a poem!

[Keanumoreira]

Wow... you're starting to remind me of Maharg67! How many great stories can you write at once? These days I can't even find time to write a poem!

 

It's a natural talent is all I can say. Occasionally I get these moments of inspiration where I have to write or I will lose it which is why I come up with a lot of things to put down. That and because I have plenty of free time! :biggrin: