You Think?_i am the author_A Robot for A Best Friend_Unleashing Light
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You Think?
Sometimes I dream about winning. Early in the morning, when my brain is supposed to think of absolutely nothing at all, when my eyes are supposed to be closed and I’m supposed to be lying still on the padded table I rest on, my brain fantasizes. Upon the black canvas of nothingness they prompt our consciousness into, my brain draws shapes while I sleep. It creates colors and sounds and I can feel everything. Every night it’s different; sometimes my mom is there, or Jack, my sister, or my girlfriend Dera. But every night, one thing is the same: I win. I’m standing in the center of the Hangar,...
i am the author
Disclaimer:I am Maria, and I am the “author”. However, do not misunderstand. I do not create the story, I merely tell it. Science has come to a point where we can calculate and predict every single human action, movement, thought, etc. They call this type of math the ‘Magic Eight Ball Method’, named after the famed toy that was popular in the 21st century. This science has been protested by many, and we understand your concerns. Some may have said that we are playing ‘god’. Some have said that they feel a lack of privacy. However, I hope you understand that this is for the greater advancement ...
A Robot for A Best Friend
Hi. My name is Julie Maxwell. I am 17 and go to a private high school at Academy Prep High. And, remember we live in a world with robots and is 2350. I also have one best friend, Norma Anderson. We do everything together, sleepovers etc. Okay, enough about me, here is where everything gets real, literally. So, I met Norma in first grade, and you would think everything was www.onedoor.ccnormal and we would be best friends, right? Well, no. Last year, she met this guy, who I dont even know, and they have hung out together ever since. So, I lost my best friend, and she hasnt talked to me in months, like months...
Unleashing Light
I should kill the bartender. I smile to myself. It’s rare that I’m able to identify a thought that’s not my own. The thought had come from my chip, how else would I know that the bartender’s own chip is beginning to malfunction? Chatter fills the bar as everyone around their tables catch up during their daily allotted social gathering. No one pays attention to me or the government issued gun I carry. A designated drunk stumbles into my path. His chip sparks his alcohol soaked brain into motion and he scurries away before I trample him. The bartender spares me a glance out of the corner of h...