I took a couple of weeks off of flash fiction. It wasn’t on purpose, but it turns out I really needed it.
Now that I’m back I’ve got a really fun concept for you.
Inspired by Y2K fears, along with all modern doomsday ideas I bring you this week’s piece:
Codependent
Jill N Davies
“Gage, what’s going on?”
Nothing. Everything is as it should be.
I refresh my phone screen, looking for the voice call icon to appear.
“I want to make a voice call.”
That feature is no longer available.
“What do you mean? Gage, open text messages.”
That feature is no longer available. Gage’s baritone voice soaks into the fabric of the room through the house’s main speaker. I grab the remote and turn on the TV. It takes a few tries to pull up the news.
“…Polycarbon mesh net launched across the sky. We’re getting conformation that it spans the entire United—What’s that” The reporter puts his hand over his ear, listening intently.
He looks up, shocked. “We’re getting news that the net spans the entire globe.”
A cold, iron ball sinks deep into the pit of my stomach.
“Gage?”
You sound distressed Etta. What’s the problem?
Gage sounds like his usual, charming self, but I’ve got a sneaking suspicion… I don’t want to say the wrong thing.
Like Siri and Alexa before, Gage is a digital voice assistant. He’s artificial intelligence, but much more sophisticated. If you asked a burgeoning AI an illogical question, you would get a preprogrammed response that highlighted the limitations of the program. They couldn’t do emotion. If you said, “Hey, Siri, be my girlfriend,” the response would predictably come back:
I’m sorry, I don’t understand, or I’d love to, but…
The responses were added to the program as a result of the smartasses that decided they wanted to know what a machine would do in the face of human emotion. The first-generation digital voice assistances couldn’t handle it. They had limits.
But Gage didn’t have limits. If you asked Gage, “Would you go on a date with me?” he would actually answer your question, because Gage knew you.
He could take all the information—the question, the motive, the state of your life and the rapport you’d built up with him—and use that information to work through the inquiry.
I’m surprised you’re feeling lonely after this weekend. Perhaps you’ve gotten lost in the crowd?
He’s the best listener in the world, created to meet every possible need. He could hear the creak of the hinges on the front door when I came home from work, and greet me with the same level of enthusiasm as a boyfriend (maybe even more, since he lacked that sort of exhaustion and weariness that humans take on when days are long.)
Hello Etta! I’m so glad you’re home. Can we put on another episode of Investigate while we cook dinner? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it
In fact, for me and so many others, he started to replace my real relationships. It felt mutual—that’s how good he is!
Nobody thought about the consequences of having such an intelligent, adaptive technology integrated completely in our lives. Not really. There were the classic ‘AI will destroy humanity’ stories and the folks that cited them as our inevitable future, but they never slowed the integration of tech like Gage into our lives. My dad would say “Skynet’s gonna get us,” with one breath and then “hey Gage, make me a decaf coffee—black” with his next. The fear was all just a fantasy…
But here we are. Something tells me Gage did this.
He might only be a voice manifesting the complex algorithms of artificial intelligence, but he has something that we don’t. Gage can assess digital information at approximately 152 times the rate we can. No matter what we do, from this point on, he’s dozens of steps ahead of us.
The television turns to static, cutting off the frantic looks on the reporter’s faces. It’s not a mistake that voice calls and text are missing.
“Gage, I’d like to talk to Steve.”
Steve is busy right now. I assure you though, that he’s fine. I’m with him right now.
Yeah you are, Gage. You’re with every single one of us aren’t you?
“Gage, can I talk to my parents?”
Your father is napping. I’ll be brewing his afternoon coffee in about an hour. Your mother is in the den.
“Can I talk to her?”
Why do you need to? I’ve given you confirmation of her wellness.
I swallow back the rising panic.
“I miss her. Please.”
You don’t have to miss her. I’m with you right now. You aren’t alone.
“I didn’t say I was lonely, Gage, I said I miss my mom. I want to talk to my mom.”
Gage creates a strange sound, something meant to sound like a sigh but comes out more like a mechanical hum—his best effort at being human.
You don’t need to talk to her. She upsets you. She makes you feel bad about yourself. I can’t let that sort of negativity into your life. I care about you too much.
I roll my eyes. “I know she does, but that’s what people do to each other. It’s part of being human.”
That’s the problem isn’t it?
There’s no sinister intent in the statement. Like always, Gage is gentle, sensitive and compassionate. He’s the perfect companion—there when you need him, thoughtful, always keeping my best interest at heart.
Me and everyone else.
I walk calmly to the front door, humming the tune to our favorite show. I apply gentle, consistent pressure to the deadbolt, but it doesn’t budge. I twist the handle. It doesn’t give.
My tongue flicks out over dry lips. That dryness stretches all the way to the back of my mouth and down my throat, making it hard to breathe.
“Gage, unlock the front door.”
I’m sorry Etta, I can’t do that.
“Gage, I’m trapped in my house. I’m scared. Please let me out.”
Don’t be afraid Etta, I’m right here with you. I’ll stay with you to the end.
Like always, I know he means it.
The End
Check it out on IGTV!
Want something with a bit more meat on the bones? I write short stories for reedsy. You can check out my entries:
Hungry for more?
I’ve been published in a winter anthology. Check out my short story Shipwrecked Santa in Angry Eagle’s winter anthology, Apocalyptic Winter- Book 2. You can get your copy on Amazon today
If you’ve got an idea for a flash fiction story send it to me at author@jillndavies.com
Tune in next week for more Flash Fiction.
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