The Federation of BC Writers had a flash fiction contest (had to be less than 500 words), so I thought I'd try it out. This is what came out of it. It's odd, and kind of dumb, but yeah, definitely read it anyway ;P . (Part of the contest included using five - I think it was five - particular words. Let me know if you have any guesses which they were.)
**(Also, I don't know if I need to put a trigger warning here, but might as well be safe. If you're not OK with possibly-sentient robot suicide - and, honestly, the jury is out on whether this is actually suicide or the robot is rationalizing after being sentenced to death - then this probably isn't for you.)
Without further ado, here's...
USER: DeathRobot6669
"Not the way to go"
I hate waiting.
I know it’s a bit gauche to mention it when I’m literally being crushed by a snaggle-toothed steel cylinder, but we all deal with the end in our own ways. I just assumed “bored to death” was a turn of phrase.
I mean sure, the conveyor belt jerking to life, beginning my slow, feet-first journey to oblivion was titillating at first. However, intermittent power-losses (caused by an indiscriminant hair-dryer, I’m sure) have cut short the tension.
And then, of course, one of the belts slipped. Yeesh, and I thought I was cobbled together.
Ten minutes later I’m relieved to find my termination is in-fact in progress. The screech-thunk of my shins being reliably ripped and smooshed by what I had been assured is a solid steel Crusher6000 is better than expected. While the brochure I’d read stated I’d be meeting my doom by the Smash750 (by all accounts a superior unit), I do find myself drifting off to the crunch of my limbs.
Biologics, I assume, would be squashed like a browning avocado.
There is something to be said for the feel of a fleshy meat bag leaking like an exploded tube of toothpaste between solid mechanical fingers. I doubt ol’ Crusher here has any sense resistors for that sort of thing, though. Pity.
Not that I would ever harm a human. I mean, don’t be silly — the three laws and all. Still, no harm in dreaming, is there?
I’m pulled out of my reverie by a status update noting the power cell in my lower abdomen has caught fire and will soon explode. Finally something of note! I mean I know I’m getting this service for free, but I had expected a tad more excitement from the rending of my molded exoskeleton, the disjointing of my carefully woven circuitry and the tearing of my pneumatic tube arteries. The activity just isn’t living up to the hype.
This is a once-in-an-activation’s experience, for creator’s sake. When I’d slowly exterminated my owner’s hamster, its stupendous wriggling and chitters of terror had suggested to me that this was something to look forward to — that my own eradication might perhaps help me to finally feel present.
I confess to never having lived “in the now” for more than a nanosecond. But, when your overclocked processor can compute 90 billion thoughts-per-second, what else can you expect? I mean, after the first 45 minutes of life, there’s only so much left to contemplate.
It’s hard to live one’s best life when you’re sensing everything at 180 hertz but the world only refreshes at 30. A car crash moves at the speed paint dries, and paint dries about as fast as … I dunno, something else really damn slow.
Starting to feel dizzy, now. Microprocessor’s overheating. Left visual sensor … impaled. Vzion-$2 … cl0Ude..eee333333.
dE@T# … UNr3mARk87
Rating: 1.5 stars.
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