Giuseppe Morgante

Ah. It has just dawned on you. Your existing reality.

You taste it?

That tart, bitter metallic…copper entity on the tip of your tongue?

That’s the taste of defeat.

I have the shot. It is clear and I’m frozen.  Can’t pull the trigger. Can’t hear anything but gunfire from the rest of the squad. Stressed, my imagination takes over…..I see…. I imagine them all, eyes on me, hands extended towards me, desperately mouthing the words…. “take the shot.”   All of this is in slow motion of course. Black and white. Odd artistic choice.

Frozen and I think of taking a piss. I think about my shy bladder syndrome. That would be a great name for a neo punk band.

To deal with shy bladder syndrome at a urinal, surrounded by others, I found an out. I stared at the bathroom tile walls directly in front of me. Using 2 square tiles and their defined edges, I created a mental countdown. A Digital clock.  5  4   3   2   1………….

I took the shot.

“My apologies for putting you on hold Ms. Verharghe…?”

“Mrs. …..Mrs. Verharghe” She replied.

“Mrs.….I apologize. Taking a look at your files, our records show we had a consultant visit last month and another member of our team has already rebooted your x-14D in the past 2 weeks….also…..”

“Sir, I must interrupt. Do you understand the exact nature of my complaint?” Asked Mrs. Verharghe.

“Yes, we have it listed under language glitch, when the x-14D is in Teaching mode and…”

“I will stop you right there. I have been through this too many times. This damned robot is purposefully making my 2-year-old child use obscene language. It is the same thing over and over.”

“Ms. Verhaeghe”

“MRS!”

“Mrs. Mrs. Yes, I am very sorry, it’s just that we do not call them robots they are…..”

“I don’t care. Listen to me. Enough of this gobbledey gook. It insists on having my child swear. Insists on repeatedly using the words Fox, Frog and sit. Repeatedly.”

He moved away from the standing table. Adjusted his translation microphone and began to speak.

“On my planet, in the northerly districts from the manors where I am from, we have a ritual.

On the sixth sun-cycle our progenies accept, what you would call…a pet…a tame animal.

They are accountable for its regular daily wants for a further two sun-cycles. At the precise date of the child’s eighth sun-cycle, a ceremony ensues. The child and the tamed animal, alongside the child’s family and village elders enter a holy ground.

In that arena are armaments and a caged beast.

Individually, with each different child we substitute arms. Perchance an axe, poison, sword and even different creatures. Just so the child cannot prepare. The child is then given a choice.

Euthanize the pet yourself. Or have the beast released and fight for yours and its life.”

“Why are you telling us this?” asked Petr.

“I want you to recognize who you are speaking with. For when it was my day, I asked for the beast. While the cage lifted. I tore into my pet with the dagger offered. Threw its carcass to the side diverting the beast. That is when I lunged for it and thrust the weapon in the back of its hulking neck.  So please, continue you with your negotiations.”

I see you all.  From all angles and perspectives, staring at me.  Flipping the pages back and forth.  Scrolling up or down or left to right.

I have to wonder as I attempt to gaze upon you all…..are you my Deities that I look up, study, attempt to understand and worship? Or in fact, could it be that I….. am your God?

When I entered his emergency room, I did not expect to see what I saw.  I had his Human Resources Manager high pitched nasally voice repeating what just happened with certain snippets spotlighted.

“…..He seems to have had an Episode…..”

“…..He was rather disoriented…..”

“….it appears to be some sort of breakdown….”

I’m embarrassed to admit her continual usage of Ma’am stung and it bothers me still. She couldn’t have been 10 years younger.

I walked in and there he was. Sitting on those very uncomfortable guest chairs that usually accompany a room.  Reading a magazine. Of course, with two gowns on. One over the other to block any opportunity to see his backside, or lack of backside.  Like many persons, he didn’t like those hospital gowns. But he was prudish enough to ask for an extra.

My imagination was expecting restraints, a guard, something.  I hugged and kissed him.

“Gerry? Are you ok? I came over as soon as Linda called me. I’ve been calling and texting”

“I’m good, I’m good, all good. Left the phone at work, sorry” he said calmly.

I took a deep breath. “So, what is going on? Linda said you had an…. episode? Have you been seen? Have they said anything? Are you hurt? Are you….”

“Ah, stop, hold on” He interrupted me. He knew I was spiraling.

“I’m ok. I’ve been…..seen for lack of a better word. But I don’t think they know what to do with me.”

There was a pause. I stared at him waiting. “Are you going to give me the details? Linda said you had a breakdown. What is going on?”

He looked up at me. I was a little scared of what he was going to say next.

“Babe, I’m just going to say what I have to say. Please bear with me, no matter how strange, ok?  Just answer my next few questions, ok?”

“Ok” I replied, terrified of what was to come.

“Can you please spell Label and Michael” He asked.

“What!?!”

“Please just spell those words. Please?”

I covered my face with my hands.

“Please?”

“Label: L-A-B-E-L. OK. Michael: M-I-C-H-A-E-L”

He looked down at his feet and nodded to himself.

“When you type out the word “I’m”, for example…if you were to ask me…Gerry, I’m going to the store, do you need anything?   ….is the “I” in I’m capitalized?

“Yes” I said. “Always.”

He clasped his hands together. Crouched low on the chair. Hands and arms between his legs. He looked up and said.

“Babe. For me…..Label is L-A-B-L-E. Michael is M-I-C-H-E-A-L and I’ve never capitalized the I in I’m. I am not supposed to be here. Here in this universe. This is not my home.”

“What are you saying?” She was panicked…I didn’t introduce this correctly.

“Lauren, I’m saying, I, me, the person, not the new mech-me. I am strong, I’ve figured it out. I won’t let it beat me.” I was pacing, I shook my right hand in the air, I think my lip snarled.

“Sam Sam Sam, you can’t do this to me dropping these….these…. these bombs”

“Not real bombs” I joked. I raised my mech left hand as I showed her my extended pinky and released my empty cyber bomb shells from the tip catching it with my right hand.

“Are you kidding me with this?” She said.

“Physical comedy? What, I’m kidding they were empty shells, c’mon?”

I took a deep breath

“Look. …………All I’m saying is I will not let it take over. I will take over the machine. How do I put this?…..We were trained, moved to believe that they were going to take over that we would become them. It was just assumed, expected, we never had a choice.”

“From the very beginning. How will machines change us…I never believed it. Never did. I have too much faith in humanity, too much faith in me…too much faith in you!  Even if right now this is the first you’ve heard of it and I’m truly sorry I’ve kept this inside.  It’s just that all of the courses and therapy you were going through to prepare for the “new” me.  Look, inside here” I poked at my chest. I winced when the metal clank echoed in the room.

“Inside, I truly understand. I’m going to beat it. It’s not going to change me, I’m going to change it.”

My name is Gerald Etherington the 3rd, Esquire, Online Attorney. Have you ever been harassed whilst enjoying and partaking in an online competition? Shot in a first-person shooter game?

Made to lose:

• opportunities
• lives
• progress/checkpoints
• coins
• points
• and most precious of all, time?

Well, we here at Etherington, Etherington and Etherington feel we can help.