Hello folks! I'm just showing off my writing skills. Do tell me what you think of the idea. Now I don't know what it is. And plus not all of it is in compilation. But here's what I can provide. I have been forming this idea for some time. Waiting it to be big. For more on the same, check out my post, Smoke: A chapter preview. It's pretty much part of a same. Apart from The Writer, it's another one of the narratives of my alter egos. Hope you enjoy it.
She took two steps back. It was the familiar pain. The usual peanut butter textures. After all, it was an intelligible thought to not stop for water… But she had an excuse. Training one to be self sustainable wasn’t easy. As long as it was possible, it won’t stop her from trying. We are caught in a time which is the doom. The earth is paved with the remains of once silicon kingdom. Human race degraded its intellect much before than it was supposed to. Why was she left out? She loved to indulge in this stream of consciousness while doing her usual rounds.And such is the streamline of thought. Waiting for criticism.
“Hello, what do we have here?” she stopped at a sign, of a usual diner.
Her stomach made that peculiar sound again. “Okay, okay. Be quiet. I’m going,” she spake to herself in a manner as one would to a nagging persistence. She went in a diner. The diners of this era are pretty much of the diners as known in the twentieth and early twenty first century. Except for the services are robotic. Under the new law, only robots can be in service lines. Humans only do programming. The law was aimed to stop the corruption of robots and also to avoid the imperfection of human kind. But there wasn’t any law for the hooligans to stop behaving stupidly. How she hated life.
This one robot was primitive. A head which was pretty much like the television sets of the earliest kind, bearing a photo of someone she read about… a certain Martin Luther King Jr. What she could infer was that this robot was one of the recreation projects. She ordered a glass of water and a loaf of bread, gave a payment of a hundred scores, took a book from her bag and started reading it. A gentleman, with looks of a student, noticed the book.
“Excuse me, but what is this?” asked he.
“A book,” she replied without looking up. She wasn’t interested in conversations, especially not with strangers, especially when she was out on business.
“What is a book? Never have I seen one.”
“In earlier human times books were prominent. They were a means of transfer of knowledge, and things.”
“Such massive size… it must contain quite much!” he commented upon the length and breadth of it.
“On the contrary,” she smiled, forcing herself to a conversation, “just a little amount of what your reader can provide.”
“NO! Really?!” he spake in amazement.
“Evolution of information didn’t take place in a day,” she said. Finally, this conversation could close.
“Can I touch it?”
“Alright,” she said, handing over the book, adding, “be sure not to pull the pages or force them to fold. It’s very delicate.”
“Yes, I see,” he said, observing the mechanism of turning a page. “It’s strange. Didn’t they feel that sliding, or some such would be easier?”
“They did have scrolls back then… But they were too cumbersome. Books were easiest to carry.”
“What is this made of?”
“Trees,” she replied. The moment she replied, she could feel the pain of being plunged to another conversation. Now she’d have to explain what trees are.
“Trees… I have heard the word. It’s the first oxygen filter… Isn’t it?”
“Yes,” she said, “they also had other uses.”
“Maybe that’s why they were cut down…” he could sense the stupidity of human race. “I’m Vincent Von Taylor,” he introduced himself to her.
“Psyche Von Fedora,” she replied telling her name.