Shit I Wrote When I Woke Up, Pt. 3
Posted 3/02/2009 by WHayes in Labels: pulp fiction, science fiction, Shit I Wrote When I Woke Up, the future, WHayes
"Look at all that," the younger one said, leaning toward his window with a curiosity and energy anathema to the mature veneer he wore during boarding and their taxi down the runway. He wasn't more than twenty five: a few years out of college and still absent of a clue what the fuck was going on in life outside what he saw on the RSS feed each morning. There was another man, much older this time, sitting across from this young stooge -- he admired the young man. Youth recalls youth, and the old fucker was watching his life pass before his eyes with a dash of fatal amusement big enough to make Henry proud."I have no idea what any of that is," he continued, eyes locked with lamenting sincerity on the rows of aged passenger jets stacked on the ends of the tarmac, their wings stretching outward like rusted toys reaching for a child to hold them. "I have never flown by one, or ridden a motorbike, or smelled their gasoline or kissed a robot or ever even seen a real robot for that matter. Whatever our gate agent was doesn't count, I think. She wasn't real but she looked real, you know?" The older one (who wasn't more than sixty three) spoke this time, telling him how he was ten years too late for his latter desire. "In a way its funny what happened to them all," he continued, "our image and such." They flew over a cornflower blue, squarish tangle of pipe: a floating polymer factory growing PVC from chemical residue in the river water. It was sex, the old man said. We had exposed them to too much of it. "Oh shit, you couldn't blame them for wanting to try it themselves, you know."
You wouldn't be able to tell if the boy shifted in his seat or if the seat adjusted to his wish to move, but whatever the action, he wound up leaning forward, listening intently in the way all boys do when their favorite pastime is mentioned. "Their women died first. Tried to get the orgasms just right but couldn't. The glitch hit one, then spread through their network in seconds." The geezer couldn't get to the part where his brother's came to death all over the sofa without both passengers breaking into that special kind of filthy laughter reserved for all manner of pervert.
"Something I read back at school said their men tried to outlive it for a while, hoping they could fix it or something. Build new ones, maybe?"
They waited, for a while.
"Then they got tired of fucking us (too fragile) and fucked each other instead. Then that got old or they got wise and eventually just said fuck it in general." We woke up one morning to find them all like that: cold and dead, with their lips turned up in smug satisfaction.
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