Lifeless Intelligence

You wake to the repeating sound of birds singing on a loop outside your bedroom window at precisely 5.30am. Trying your best to ignore the noise that grates against your ears, you roll over in bed and pull the covers over your head to dull the noise.

You almost drift back into dreamland when your phone rattles beside you, a vibrating alarm that sets your teeth grinding. Your arm swings out and hits the ‘cancel’ icon, keeping your eyes closed against the morning light.

A robotic female voice whispers up from the bedside table.

‘You need to wake up now.’

After readying yourself for the workday ahead, you walk briskly down the stairs, greeted by your wife Anora. She kisses your cheek, complains about the stubble growing back from yesterday’s shave, and hands you a coffee mug. It immediately warms your icy hands, and you smile at her in thanks.

Breakfast sits ready and waiting on the table for you. Toast, eggs and bacon make their way to your plate as your wife asks the A-L-E-X-A controlled television to open today’s morning news.

“How do you like the bacon?” she asks over her steaming drink, leaning back in the chair as the newswoman begins re-reading the headlines.

You shrug and put another piece in your mouth, which immediately salivates more when the flavour hits your waiting tongue.

Not wanting to talk whilst chewing, you quickly crunch the beautifully crispy piece up and swallow, trying your best to ignore the sharp edges as it slides uncomfortably down your throat.

You cough. “It’s, er- it’s great, Love. Thanks again for making all this, you really didn’t have to.”

She smiles over at you again, a smile that tells you she has something to say but is waiting to be asked.

Sighing, you glance over at the TV screen and catch the latest news article in the corner of your eye, ‘Mechanical Bird Experiment Horrors: When Trying To Bring Back Nature Goes Horribly Wrong’.

You turn away, and ask Anora, “Is there something different about it?” Her face swims with excitement and she rushes over to the fridge to take out the packet, still half-full. You take another bacon rasher from the plate and nibble on the end as she starts talking, trying to tell what might be different from the usual brand.

She sits back beside you on the recycled wooden chairs. Upcycled, she tells you to call them.

“It’s a wonderful idea, really- though I know you’re not fond of the idea, but I thought we’d just try it…”

Curious, you try to catch a glimpse of what she is hiding behind her back. Her words start to blend together as you let out an audible yawn, which Anora takes to mean you’ve lost interest in the conversation. She deflates a little and hands you the packaging.

Cell-Cultured Bacon Meat reads the label in large black font.

You drop it to the table, suddenly uncomfortable with the breakfast laid out before you. The rest of the bacon in your mouth becomes grainy and dry, and you gulp down the rest of the coffee to get rid of the taste.

You slam the mug down to the table, not intentionally, and it causes a crack to run its way from the handle to the base. Two small brown drops force their way through the small slice, reaching for the freedom of the breakfast table.

You both stand there, stunned for a moment. Sheepishly, Anora removes the now broken mug and takes it to the trash, which opens automatically when she nears. As she drops the ceramic into the bag, you hear the sound of A-L-E-X-A start up.

‘I’ve added coffee mugs to your shopping list’.

You stare at the glowing machine, pushed as far into the corner of the room as possible and almost completely hidden by an artificial plant. You feel an uncontrollable rage build inside, and take several deep breaths to calm your racing heart.

You feel a soft hand at your shoulder and spin on the spot. Watching you with concerned eyes, Anora gently squeezes your arm and heads towards the stairs.

“Wait,” you say, reaching for the uncooked rashers in its 55% recycled packaging. “We’ve talked about this, Anora. I- I’m not comfortable eating something grown in a factory. It- it goes against nature.”

Anora sighs at you and rolls her eyes. She takes a few steps up the staircase but then stops, turns to you.

“I just… I thought we could try it. You know how expensive the supermarkets are these days, and everyone’s been saying how they can’t tell any difference, so-” She stops, watching your face. Shaking her head, she carries on up the stairs.

You angrily stomp across the floor, take your plate to the kitchen and put it next to the sink. Anora’s voice carries from the upstairs hallway, calling gently for your children to wake up and start the day.

Clenching your fists, you see the glowing blue light shine through the silk plant leaves.

‘I’ve booked your first anger management session for Thursday at 11am. A confirmation email has been sent to your email and a reminder has been sent to your office.’

***

You absent-mindedly flick through news channels on your phone while Anora packs three protective backpacks. Their rigid shape always makes it awkward for your larger hands, so your wife handles the morning tasks, you the afternoon ones.

Each takes a laptop, tablet and smartphone, along with lunch and snacks throughout the day.

Handing your youngest, Morigan, her bag, you say, “You know, in my day at school, we didn’t get to take our own laptops to school. In fact, we only really used books for our work.”

The pre-teen looks at you, confused. “Books? Those things made of paper that you had to physically write on? With your hands?” The older two stop loading up their pockets and look at you with horror.

“Mum,” Aliyse asks Anora, running a brush through her messy hair and styling it perfectly within seconds. “Is that true? When you both were at school, you actually had books? Like, made out of real trees?”

You smile at them, reminiscing about your childhood and wishing they could experience it the same way. The window beside you looks out to the small garden space, with its solitary tree standing like a soldier in the centre of the astroturf.

Your children head out the door toward the self-driving school bus. You’re still a little apprehensive to let it take your girls to school, but this new pilot program is funded through your workplace and is completely free for your family to trial.

As they walk through the open doorway, the familiar voice starts up again from a shelf in the hallway.

‘Good morning, MORIGAN. Have a great day at school. Your bus is waiting for you approximately 27 feet away. You should arrive at ATLANTA MIDDLE SCHOOL by 9.43am with minimal traffic ahead. Watch your step, there is ice on the front porch.’

You watch your daughter nod in appreciation and walk delicately outside towards the waiting vehicle. She climbs on board and greets her friends, waving behind her as they start moving off.

The machine repeats this for your other children while you stand and see them off. Finally, Anora collects her things and follows, pausing to lean in to give you a brief kiss.

‘Here’s a reminder, brush your teeth.’

Anora steps back and gives you a look, that look, and you sigh for what feels like the hundredth time this morning. After a peck on the cheek and a wave goodbye, you close the door which locks automatically, and head to the bathroom. Toothpaste and your toothbrush sit waiting at the ready, despite you locking them in the cabinet the night before.

You reluctantly pick up the toothpaste tube, grimacing at the ‘spearmint’ label across the front. You contemplate for a moment if anyone would notice if you ‘forgot’ today, and decide to place it back on the counter.

The door behind you locks itself, and you hear her voice pick up from outside.

‘Here’s a reminder, brush your teeth.’

***

Lunch at work today is overtaken by a meeting, so you step outside in the afternoon for a quick vape. The side-door you left by is surrounded by automated advertisements, the screens changing every few seconds to a new product or article. You watch a camera, carefully placed in the top corner of the nearest advert, turn to face you.

Seconds later, every display in your vicinity changes to show the following:

‘Brand new e-cigarette created by Apple & Co. Scan the code below for a 5% discount at our local branch!’

‘10 dangers of smoking and vaping: Why your children will grow to hate you.’

‘What your Star Sign says your favourite Vape Flavour is.’

You throw the device into the nearest bin, which flashes red and reads ‘NON RECYCLABLE ITEM - PLEASE REMOVE’ across the base. You turn and walk quickly back into the building, trying to ignore the stares of everyone you pass by.

You open your emails at your desk. The top three read, ‘Please adhere to our company policy about disposal usage. I have linked it below.’ ‘Reasons oral hygiene is important in the workplace.’ ‘Please come to my office at your earliest convenience - regarding Anger Management Arrangements’.

***

Returning home several hours early sends a notification to Anora’s phone. She calls you before you’ve even set foot in the door, asking why and when and what happened. You also notice several messages from your oldest, Taiylor, asking similar things.

You step into the house, almost sliding on the top step of the porch, and your eyes immediately land on her. Glowing faintly blue, mocking you with her pretence of innocence.

The phone falls from your hand, your wife still talking to you though you stopped listening minutes ago. You swiftly collect the machine, taking its cordless body through the house to the kitchen sink, still filled with today’s breakfast plates. You push her under the cold, dirty water for several minutes. Your hand starts to become numb and you can feel your fingers becoming pruney.

Her waterlogged self falls to the bottom of the bin, further breaking the lonely mug. You stare at the damage you've inflicted, before slamming the lid closed and walking upstairs.

In the bedroom down the hall, you see blue light glowing in the doorway.

‘I’ve added Wireless Echo Dot Generation 19 with ALEXA to your shopping list. Additional Anger Management Classes scheduled.’