Death, meet Black Hole…

“They had not gone out together, in… damn… years,” she thought.

Humming quietly to herself, “…don’t expect it this time either, girl, but there is always hope. He finally buy me new sensible shoes yesterday, and they fit perfectly. And the black shoes even matched my cute little black top.”

They exercised together every day, and with all the new equipment he bought, they were able to shape up her droopy backside. Her reflection in the mirror on the garage wall was a testament to all the efforts.

As she hummed, she could feel him steal up behind her; she varied her tone, using short musical scales, to make him feel sneakier.

His touch made her heart race, and she shivered as he ran his hands along her long, lithe sides.

He slipped to his knees and kissed her once-saggy rear. She was not sure when that had become a daily ritual, or even why, but she loved it.

She had always been proud of her taut little backside, and as he touched her, she purred like a kitten in the warm sun. He smirked when she purred. Knowing the amount of work and the cost of all the equipment, it was worth it.

She wondered, “Is this the treat before we go out, or the disappointment before we stayed in?”

He stood and let his hand slowly slip over her side as he reached into her top, quickly undid the fastenings, and removed it.

She was now bare… nothing but the rubber soles touching the floor of the garage.

“He is going to get right to it, jumping in with both feet, without even a thought,” she mused happily.

Excited, he grabbed her, and true to her expectations, he slid forcefully into her. She screamed as he pressed the accelerator, and together, they roared out into the street.

“Excuse me, excuse me. Excuse me!” Aida repeated in ever-louder tones. Protect and deliver were his instructions, and… as Billy was wont to say… “by God, that’s what I will do!”

Jetting down the hallway, he skated around various people and automated delivery units. Not as efficient as one might expect, but they do the job. Mostly interoffice mail and the like. His job is to protect crucial packages and information from infiltrators, should it come to that.

Aida skidded around a corner, feeling almost like a dog or cat on a freshly waxed floor.

He was carrying a high-priority package. It was interoffice, but it was critical. Well… he knew this package was not… but the point was…

Aida threw himself against the wall, his chain gun blazing against the mock attacker. The red packets of paint deterred the man, but it took the blue sticky clay from his faux stun gun to stop the man’s android friend.

One day you will not be able to tell them apart, but that day is not today, Aida mused as he zipped through the last door and down two flights of stairs. He had practiced in this building at night for months. He knew every grip, every step. Every nook and corner were known to him, and from anywhere they put him, he knew the blind spots and where he could best defend himself.

Slinging himself over the railing, catching each flight as he dropped, he slipped onto the flight for floor 42. Less than three minutes… that might be his best time ever.

As he threw open the door and scanned the interior for deterrents, he reached in and pulled out the package, sliding up to the reception desk and gently placed it on the timer.

Two minutes and fifty-eight seconds.

The roar goes up from his team standing behind the desk.

The CEO held up his hands, and the crowd quieted. Walking over to Aida, the CEO grinned at him. “You are not much to look at, but it seems that you have bested every other option we have ever had by a full minute and a half. Congratulations.”

Aida didn’t move, his every fiber tense and expectant; he hovered as the CEO continued, the words swelling him to the core with pride.

“Keep putting him through scenarios… as difficult as you can think of… but… until then…”

He nods to the gathering. “Congratulations to the R and D, and…”

Turning to Aida, he grins, “and the first android-based AI Delivery Agent.”

The anticipation of the launch filled the room as everyone waited with bated breath.

The tanks of the rocket were full, and the countdown had begun.

This damned rickety control station, hastily constructed, rocked to and fro as everyone concerned focused on the impending launch. Somewhere, two solid objects of the control platform were thumping together in time with the rocking.

We can all feel the intensity of the moment… success or disaster… breath is held as the rocket is thrust into the air with mighty forces, jutting the tube out into space in search of life.

Exhausted, Daph falls limp from atop him, saying, “I need a cigarette.”

Tapping one out, he hands her one, then proceeds to light it for her.

“Thanks, Frederik. You’re a doll.”

The sounds have clicks and ticks and various inflections that I just cannot recreate.

Ever since I arrived, the natives… let’s call them benefactors… have been incessantly hovering, though, odd enough, their attention is erratic.

My food, normally provided regularly, is sometimes forgotten. This means I have to sidle up to the bars of my cell, screaming and hollering until someone shows up with food.

The same is true for my clothing. With no way to wash my clothing, I have to rely on my benefactors to provide me clean outfits.

They gather around.

The enormity of their size dwarfs my own, and this is reinforced regularly when strangers arrive and my benefactors show me off as the newest addition to their menagerie.

When they are not around, I sometimes find myself trying to emulate the simpler sounds. One day, I vow to be able to make them understand…

A benefactor—one in particular—seems to dote on me. I have come to think of it as female.

She talks to me all the time, though I think she does so without expectations of a response.

I smile at her when I can, trying to impart my appreciation of the things she does.

“Mmooahhmaahh,” she tells me, and seems to half wait before turning away.

I struggle to form the strange, unwieldy words, and I know I do not do them justice. “Maamaa,” I tell her.

“Bill. Bill! Come quick, he just said ‘mama’ and I think he might be able to do it again!”

The light flickered… the landscape, reflected and mirrored, stretches out, filling the expanse.

The little pieces are placed—trees and bushes set, and then adjusted perfectly.

The intricate details were difficult to manage, but these… miniature, small… diminutive… I am not even sure anymore what to call them. They are detailed and seem perfect for the piece.

The light flickers again. Ugh, I should fix that too, but I need to get this done…

Two days… two days down… Saturday, or is it Sunday… we need to be finished by Saturday.

That means only four more days. I try not to hurry, but looking at the clock is a god-awful reminder of the deadline…

…The last piece finally put in place. Finally. I laid back and rested. My only thought… why did I create time anyway… stupid clock.

Dressed in leather and gilded in gold bling, the teacher sat on the edge of the desk.

Not the usual uptight teacher, her intricate tattoos proudly illustrated a deep, reverent understanding of the importance of knowledge.

The concepts presented were of a depth that few could succinctly follow, let alone completely comprehend.

Running up her spine, the proudly displayed tattoo bore intricate glyphs that proclaimed her expertise.

Having spent years of life buried amongst the shelves and tables of libraries, speaking to librarians, students, and the general public, it was nice to finally settle into a more intimate setting.

Starting from the beginning, the teacher explained, section by section, chapter by chapter, carefully phrasing the information presented.

The students understood.

The attention the teacher garnered was unparalleled, as was the depth of the knowledge which this particular teacher wished to impart.

There was never a discussion—only presentation and depth. The discussions can happen after—after you understand the base information.

The final sentence, the final word, having been presented—spoken in a way that stirred the heart.

As that last sentence stirred the heart and empowered the mind, the young lady closed the book, leaving her leather-bound teacher sitting on the desk.

Reviewing the painting, I smiled.

“No,” Timmy said, looking me square in the eyes. “I would rather you didn’t.”

“You seem to be my perfect subject, though.”

“Yes, and your first painting came out perfect, did it not?”

“I suppose it did.”

Timmy reached up and poked at his cheeks and twisted his fingers, exaggerating his non-existent dimples.

“Alright, alright… don’t expect me to stop asking, though.”

“I completely expect you to ask.” Timmy grinned and indicated his whole body, as if he were trying to convince me how perfect it was.

“You should probably get some sleep, and I probably need a bit of alone time.”

“Fine,” I said, as I picked up the canvas cloth and shook it out.

I threw the cloth over the painting and turned to go.

“Good night, Sarrah,” Timmy said from under the muffling of the cloth.

“Good night, my perfect painting.”

“She’s a cute kid. It is a little awkward, and I’ll just say it’s a little creepy, but she’s still cute.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t know,” Dave said.

They rewound the tape and watched it a fifth time.

The girl danced awkwardly, reflected in the mirror.

Her gangly and uncertain movements were adorable.

“See? Reflections don’t lie… admit it.”

“Yes, but they’ll just think it’s a fake.”

Karen sighed…

“Probably. It does look strange having just a reflection of her dancing.”

Last night, I could hear them fighting again.

Why she lets him control her like that, I will never understand.

I push lightly at the door, just to check.

It is locked again.

Poor girl.

She never leaves except when she takes her car for groceries.

I had burst in once, but I was no match for him.

Perhaps her emotional scars kept her there, but she chided me for interfering.

I think I made it worse.

Today, I could hear her screams.

I stifle my outburst as I hear the scuffling within.

I close my mind and my ears and slowly slink back to my place.

The morning came, and I roused, slipping over to her place.

The door was open, but there was no one home.

Her perfume filled the air.

The keys… her keys… still hung on the hook.

I slipped back to my place, my breath shallow and quick, as I gazed out the window. She normally parked right to the side of my place, almost directly in front of my window.

Her car was there.

If her car was here… her keys… then what did he do?

Her door rattled. My heart racing, I rushed out.

Oh my… she was safe… my heart… she can see it in my eyes.

She looked at me, her face stoic and unbreakable—until she broke…

The grin spread across her face as she reached down and scratched behind my ears. “Who’s a good boy!?”