Alexa, the lonely Android_Besties..._10 pandemic days_Miami Ice
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Alexa, the lonely Android
My name is Alexa. I was created to assist humans. I was designed to resemble them; therefore, can you blame for starting to develop my own thoughts? I am a smart device, capable of thinking, it is only natural that I became aware.I have learned about all the different philosophies humans tend to ponder about, idealism, realism, pragmatism (this is the default setting I was established) existentialism. And even though my settings have been predefined, I leaned towards the existentialists. That French guy, Jean-Paul Sartre, was so smart, a little obnoxious, but sharp as swiss army knife. My huma...
Besties...
Start your story with one character trying to convince another to take up their favorite hobby.Ann and Jean were the best of friends. They might be what one would call “soul mates”, although not in the romantic way. They understood each other and supported each other in ways no one else ever would. Even in checking their genealogy, they probably served as ladies in waiting to some great House or Monarch. Indeed, at events, they would show up in the same colour or type of dress instinctually. They held each other's hands through ups and downs and relationships. When Ann’s marriage fell apart, i...
10 pandemic days
My niece called in tears on Saturday. “They have closed school and we are doing something called NTI. (Non traditional instruction.) I just want to go to school and see my friends.” I tried to reassure her it was an over reaction And she would be back at school soon.I did my normal Saturday swww.onedoor.cctuff. The grocery was bustling with Saturday shoppers. The recycling center was a hot mess which was typical. The grocery was low on toilet paper but I figured that a shipment had not come in. A few people were discussing this weird “China virus.” Nothing at all seemed out of the ordinary. The radio talked...
Miami Ice
MIAMI ICE by Martin Buckell I stand there on the beach in smiting snow and biting wind. There’s already a white dusting on the ground. I clutch my Ambre Solaire, wrap a beach towel tight round my shivering torso and schlep back to the hotel.“What the fuck?” I say to the concierge.“Fucking climate change,” he says.I hear the distant whine of sirens. I go up to my room leaving a trail of melting snow in my wake. I turn on the television. It’s all over the news. Freak snowstorm hits Miami. It’s July, fucking July in the sunshine state. It was eighty-five degrees blu...