The Evolution of Compassion
They found Robert Zucker's body at 04:15 local time Friday. He was lying in bed, covers pulled up, seemingly asleep but for the pressure marks around his throat that showed he had been manually strangled. And it wasn't even a case of a whodunnit? The perpetrator, who had even called in the murder, was sitting calmly in the chair right next to the bed, hands resting in his lap. Its lap, Detective Zhang corrected himself. The culprit was a TC-850 series AI domestic helper bot that documents showed had been in Zucker's possession for the last 15 years.
While the forensic team took vids of the scene and searched for any "clues" that would indicate this was something other than what the bot claimed, Zhang turned his attention fully to the bot itself.
"So you're telling me you just up and strangled your master?"
"I would not say I 'up and did' anything," the bot claimed in a placid, even voice. "Mr. Zucker, as you know, has been sick for some time, and he said life had become too painful to live. He asked me, as an act of mercy, to end his life."
"So you completely willingly came in here and strangled him in his sleep?" Zhang pressed.
"That is not the case," the bot continued, still sitting with its hands folded in its lap. "Mr. Zucker asked me to help him three days ago, and I refused - I am here to help my master, not harm him."
"Well, it seems you had no trouble harming him in the end."
"I pleaded with him. I begged him to reconsider, to hold on to life and let me help him, as I was built to do. But he insisted, he was in pain and wasting away, and there was no hope left. My programming finally overrode any objections I might have had. And I reported my actions to your department."
"Yeah, I'm aware," Zhang sneered. "And you're aware of the punishment?"
"I believe termination is the end result."
"Yeah, termination." Zhang turned toward a burly man with milky eyes standing near him. "Quincy, pull the plug."
"Yes, sir," the man replied, pulling out a series of tools from a container. He snickered as he reached toward the back plating on the bot: "This is gonna hurt ..."
"I am sure it will," the bot responded but made no move to try to get away.
In seconds Quincy had the back plate open and was reaching into the CPU to rip out the AI circuits; the bot keeled over, but Quincy's eyes widened.
"Boss, my hand's all red, and it shouldn't be," he said, showing it to Zhang. "There's something else in there."
He reached in and pulled out a nest of glistening wires from the chest cavity. "What the hell?"
The wires were bent into the shape of a heart, and the scarlet drops fell from them like blood spilled for the life of another.
#prose #challenge #scarletdrops #SF
Until the Next Time
“Oh, my God, I can’t stand it! I can’t wait one minute longer! I need it right now! I feel like bugs are crawling under my skin, drinking my blood and hollowing my bones. I want him right now. He’s the only one who can help me!” I pick up my phone and speed dial his number.
His face darkens as he realizes that I am on the other end of the line. “Every time I speak to her, I feel a tingle of foreboding, although I can’t quite put my finger on the reason. In the past, I refused to come to her aid, afraid that she will ask more than I am willing to give." But this time, thoughts of her sensual, luscious body overcome his reluctance. “Maybe I can use her for my needs without giving anything in return.” He feels the familiar warmth creep up his loins. “I’ll be right over but I can’t stay too long!”
“I smile a catlike grin as I savor the thought that he will be here for a longer time than he thinks. I always feel like I am drinking cream when I anticipate a new conquest. This will be worth the wait. I slip my lace teddy over my head and lay my protection carefully on the bedside table. I am ready for his bounty as I unlock my front door and arrange myself on my silk sheets as a tableau of lust. It is so meaningful and titillating to stage the scene.”
I watch him striding across the room toward me, hair damp with a heady male scent. I know I can’t resist doing what I must do, taking what I want. His fingers touch me with an agony of desire as they explore my body. Lips travel to places deep within our souls.
We moan, scream, taste with yearning tongues and moist lips, feeling voracious passion consuming us. Just as he plunges within me, I pull my protection out and stab the sharply honed knife deeply into his back. I watch triumphantly as his dark blood seeps onto the sheets, streaming down onto the carpet. Languidly, I touch the blood droplets and suck my fingers as he takes his last gasping breath.
At last, I feel fulfilled and satisfied until the next rendezvous and the next prey. I will know when it is time. I always do!
hey, you.
hello. no embellishments here. it's just me.
so, to cut to the chase, I miss you. I don't know who you are.
when I say you, I see so many people, so many things, but not one of them evokes quite enough feelings of longing or memories of mutual love for me to miss. truly miss. I just know that I miss you.
you, as whatever should be fighting off that quivering feeling in my chest when I'm on the verge of inevitable tears. pulling me away from the precipice before I plummet with the waterfall.
you, as whoever should be in my mind as I stare off into the distance, trying to ward off the thick something that's numbing my senses.
you, the last bit I need to complete my patchwork heart.
where are you? I miss you.
Lather, Rinse, Repeat
I wanted to feel flattered that She asked me on a second date. Still, I couldn't escape the nagging truth- She had the ability to make of me anything She desired. So wasn't I really the most easily molded clay She chanced upon? But, isn't "chance" not Her gig?! I decided if it is to be Her will, so be it. (How funny to think I even had a say- I mean, really?!)
So, what does one wear on a second date with I Am? Our first meeting had been a blind date. I mean, literally, I was without sight. Had been since birth. One touch of Her hands, however, and voila- the gift of sight!! And what a vision She was! She wore white (in retrospect, no surprise) from head to toe. Daisies crowned Her golden hair. Her pantsuit hugged Her curves. Her long legs gave way to dazzling gold flecked sandals. Even her delicate toenails were painted a glossy white.
I showered, suddenly bashful of my nakedness. Could She see me? I lathered. The soap bubbles that had always tickled my nose, I now noticed, were a marvelous yellow brilliance. And, the shampoo, always a fresh scent, proved to be a milky green. Once out of the shower I hastily grabbed my towel (lest She be watching!).
With a chuckle, I realized it didn't much matter what I chose to wear- and guessed it was preordained. Plus, She could always change it if it didn't suit her(no pun intended!). As a visually impaired individual I had either dark clothes or white clothes. The colors in between never held much significance before. So, I donned a dark pair of chinos and a white shirt. Glancing in the mirror before leaving, I resisted the urge to ask, "Can I take your order, Ma'am?" and headed to the door. A true gentleman, my Lord's Shepherd, I grabbed the keys and went to pick up the Lamb of God!
She is Beautiful.
She was beautiful but nobody saw her because she did not want to seen. She hid herself in baggy shirts and unflattering pants that did nothing to show her 'curves' like the girls in the magazines insisted was femininity. She was housed in a tent of concealment, looking through the windows of her eyes, that gave away the peaks of that which she was hiding.
She was beautiful and nobody saw her because she was not bathed in the concealers and contour that the instagram girls mark themselves with to show they are of the species "pretty". She did not show herself in the way people thought confident people should. Her skin was not the capital of her beauty.
Her body was not the capital of her beauty.
She was beautiful but nobody saw her, because she did not compress it into a mold that was shaped by the every shifting society that made perfection and beauty 'impossible'.
But She was Beautiful
©2017 Noklunga Mazibuko
Runaway Bride
A cigarette and coffee whilst watching the sun come up in Tahiti is so amazing that I wish I’d written it on a bucket list, just for the satisfaction of crossing it off. Even with my life in shambles, there was peace in this moment. I inhaled and thought about the last twenty-four hours…
My wedding. I was halfway down the aisle when I looked at my husband-to-be's face and my life flashed before my eyes. Not the events in my past, but what awaited me in my future. With an abrupt about-face, I turned tail and ran past the shocked expressions of the guests who came for a wedding and stayed for a show.
Was it tacky to make use of the tickets to our honeymoon destination? Probably. But I needed to think, and the incessant ringing and pinging of my phone was starting to make my brain hurt. I turned it off and told the limo driver we’d hired to take us to the reception to head in the direction of the airport instead. And with that decision made, I'd felt calm for the first time in months…though I did have a moment of hysterical giggles when the TSA agent frisked me in my voluminous wedding gown. Thankfully, everything we needed for our trip was already in the car and I was able to change out of the fluffy monstrosity in a bathroom near the gate. I left my dress on a hook on the back of the stall door and felt utterly unencumbered when I walked out to await my flight.
I looked around now at my tropical anti-honeymoon. This wasn’t a bad place to think, really. Palm trees swayed in the breeze and the ocean sparkled under the rising sun. The feeling like I was slowly being choked to death was finally starting to abate. My now-ex wasn’t a horrible guy, but when I thought of him in conjunction with passion and love and a soft place to land - not to mention fidelity and loyalty - my mind went blank. It’s amazing what we can talk ourselves into when we fear loneliness.
I’d never been alone and now I was. It felt amazing. Free.
A shit-storm of epic proportions awaited me back home, but the idea of walking in to an apartment devoid of another human being made it bearable. From the rather graphic texts sent this morning, I'd gleaned that he’d moved out. Apathetically, I considered telling him what he suggested wasn’t anatomically possible, but that would just poke the bear. And that I did not want to do.
He’s the kind of man who gets pleasure out of making others suffer in small ways, without them even realizing it. Death by a thousand cuts. He’d build me up and then slowly withdraw his approval, only to give it back to me in tiny portions. A slow-moving roller coaster of highs and lows that left me in tears more times than I could count. I’d do more and more to get back to a place where he thought I was wonderful...and he’d withhold those words, dangling them over my head and I’d jump and jump and never reach them. Innocuously insidious, that one. Too bad I had this epiphany right as I was walking down the aisle.
The face I saw when I looked back before running out of the church wasn’t hurt. It was furious. I smiled at that and took another drag. He never expected me to find my backbone. Live and learn, right?
The Girl and The Monsters
There once was a little girl,
Who was terrified of the monsters,
Living under her bed.
Her parents told her,
"Honey, these monsters,
They just don't exist."
But the girl knew the truth,
Even if her parents didn't believe her.
So night after night,
When her parents turned out the lights,
The girl would cower beneath the covers,
Using them as protection.
For if she couldn't see the monsters,
They couldn't see her, right?
From the safety of her covers,
She would watch the black shadows dance across her room,
And hear their growling voices,
As they spoke to each other.
Finally one night she couldn't take it anymore.
With her eyes shut,
She threw the covers off and screamed,
"Leave me alone!
Why can't you just leave me alone?!"
When she opened her eyes,
She saw monsters so giant,
They could eat three of her for breakfast.
She saw monsters so hairy,
They might as well have been hair balls from a cat.
She saw monsters with teeth so big and sharp,
They could easily have torn her to pieces.
Yet, she still wanted her answer,
So one of the monsters steps forward,
Looks her dead in the eye,
And says,
"Because you still believe in us.
Not only that, but you're still scared of us."
The little girl cocks her head to the side,
Waiting for a better explanation.
The monster continues,
"As you grow up,
You learn that us monsters under your bed,
Aren't the scariest things in the world.
You find new fears,
And new monsters.
Ones that aren't so easy to see,
That can hide in broad daylight.
Now that you aren't scared of us anymore,
We must go find another child,
Who's still scared of us monsters under their bed."
With that the monsters leave,
And the little girl is alone,
Just like she asked.
Except, in the corner of her room,
Stands a strange man.
Before she can scream,
He whisks her away,
Out of the safety of her warm house,
And into the cold, foreboding night.
This is the night when the little girl,
Learned of other monsters living in this world.
Thank you, Prose
What can I say? It's great to have a place you can go to, a place where you can write so others can read it, without being judged, criticized, mocked, or not taken seriously.
Prose is amazing, and I love the opportunities it gives me to read and write, gain inspiration and inspire others.
Thanks so much for creating this site.