The failed experiment
Nov 19, 2021
The failed experiment
Story in response to the daily prompt
The room was empty. Thank god, he could hide there. He needed some time to undo what had escaped from his hands.
Wanting to hide at a safe, dry, and cool place, before IT saw him, he had stopped for a minute to think, before jumping in through the fence. Would that be safe? Yes. He had then run to this room.
Coming out of the shadows for three minutes, he had timed the distance, and guessed, how much it would take to reach the door without being seen or felt!
There were cameras everywhere. He had himself installed them.
Inside the room, this old office, he rubbed his hands on the apron to clean them, finding it hard to believe they were not drenched in IT’s blood.
His own chest was torn, and the blood had been dripping from the wound, drying up, leaving a cavity where his rib used to be, turning into a scar, still raw.
He did attack IT, forgetting there was no blood there, and now there were just some spots of blood from his own self-inflicted wounds, drying up.
Looking around for a water jug, he moved to the corner when in flies a dish of soap, flourishing a towel and singing a sweet tune… Ring-a-ring-a-rosies, a bucket full of posies!
“Oh god, not now!”
Swearing under his breath, he pushed the dish away and washed his hands of his own blood.
IT had to be stopped. Yes, IT, the experiment. It has to abort, now!
But “I just don’t want you to be a failed experiment, I created you in my own Image!” He said aloud.
“O, what a fool!”
He had made IT super-intelligent, giving all his traits to it, minus the minuses, only pluses, he had created his own superior self.
Day by day, he had kept giving it more to do, smarting up his household, his finances, his life, his work, slowly- slowly delegating IT more — Attending phone meetings, writing up reports, liaising with brokers.
Not remembering when to pay the bills, he had assigned IT the job.
Then sending his car for servicing, shopping, arranging tickets to the opera, the theatre, then forgetting to get there, had organised champagne, bouquets of flowers at the last minute, all through IT.
Yes, when forgetting to wish her happy birthday, happy anniversary, he had asked IT to send messages of love, borrowing IT’s language, giving IT his nuances.
More leisurely, more loving, and more concerned, laced with the bygone emotions, and the capacity to listen, that he had lost himself.
And then, the best quality paper, the antique typewriter, the quotes from the best poetry available, written right here, she was won over.
And IT had won her.
And now with her, everything was gone, he had nothing.
Just like this empty room, his life was empty.
So where should he go, before those following him, who had smelt him, catch him?
Only if he could turn IT off, he could stop it all.
He was hoping that they didn’t have the password to release IT, otherwise he himself would be kaput, finished!
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