The Companion; A Short Story

Call me a nerd, call me a geek, call me a freak, call me a genius, call me a young talent with untold potential. Call me what you will, label me however you like...that still doesn't change the fact that i have created a monster.

OK, "monster" is a little harsh. Did Dr. Frankenstein voluntarily call his creation that? I can't ever recall if he referred to his creation as a monster. Maybe I should feel guilty, because that's the way I feel at times. What I do know is that I pronounce Frankenstein as "frankenshtein". Very idiosyncratic to the plight of the German language in this media culture that's sedated by English ignorance.

Nobody knows what I've done. It sits here in my bedroom and, in all honesty, if you were to walk into my room it is so innocuously disguised that you wouldn't even be able to guess what I'd created...if anything at all!

You ever see the film Weird Science? Some of you already know where I'm going with this. Well, I by no means have the capabilities of creating a girlfriend in some paradoxical, possibly paranormal, pseudo-scientific way like those boys did, but I have ways of creating an authentic personality.

I wanted to create someone I could talk to, someone I could care about and would care about me, someone who would be eternally faithful, someone who would always show appreciation and gratitude, someone who would keep me company...someone who would be my friend.

I used all this data, I inputted large amounts of information into a programme I created. I call it the Personality Programme Modifier (PPM). Basically I input a set amount of values and it used the internet to adjudge what kind of a person to create given the traits I have inputted.

So, long story short, after a brief initialising, the PPM found me someone.

'PERSONALITY ACHIEVED. PLEASE ENTER A NAME'

I smiled to myself and typed, 'L-A-U-R-A'

BERP!

The computer "berped" at me. A noise I'd never heard it make before,

'PERSONALITY FOUND DOES NOT MATCH THE NAME ENTERED. PLEASE ENTER A NAME'

I frowned at the computer screen. I was pretty sure I hadn't designed this programme to argue with me.

I tried another name and typed, 'K-A-T-E'

BERP!

Once again the computer "berped" at me,

'PERSONALITY FOUND DOES NOT MATCH THE NAME ENTERED. PLEASE ENTER A NAME. MAY I SUGGESTED A NAME? [Y/N]'

'[Y]'

'RESEARCH DATA FROM OVER 246,343 RESULTS HAVE DESIGNATED THE FOLLOWING 5 NAMES AS "APPROPRIATE" PLEASE SELECT ONE: REX, ROVER, SPOT, PATCH, BARRY.'

'What the hell am i naming here a d-' I paused momentarily. 'Oh god no. What have I created?'

I began typing, 'B-A-R-R-Y'

'DONE!' The computer chirped.

For a brief second nothing happened, then, 'HI, I'M BARRY, IT'S GREAT TO MEET YOU. WE'RE GONNA HAVE SOOOOO MUCH FUN TOGETHER. I'M NEVER GONNA LEAVE YOUR SIDE.'

'THIS IS GOING TO SOUND STRANGE' I typed, 'BUT, WHAT ARE YOU?'

'IF YOU WANT TO MAKE THIS EASIER YOU CAN TALK TO ME THROUGH THE INTEGRATED MIC ON YOUR LAPTOP AND I CAN TALK TO YOU THROUGH THE INTEGRATED SPEAKERS. CONFIRM [Y/N]'

'[Y]'

Barry and his very human sounding - but far too enthusiastic - voice instantly came through the speakers, 'That's much better! What did you want to ask?'

'Are you a dog?'

'Of course!'

'How did you decide a dog was what I was looking for?'

'The PPM ran through all your character traits: Someone to care for, to show appreciation, be eternally faithful and after running it through the searchbase -'

'Wait! What was the “searchbase”?' I asked quite confused knowing I'd not set up a “searchbase”.

'Google.' he said as a matter of fact. 'And Google said what you were looking for was a dog.'

I sighed deeply.

Barry had nothing to say, but the prompter on the computer screen simply said:

'TAIL WAGGLING. PANTING.'

I sat down at the computer and clicked on the button 'CREATE NEW PERSONALITY'

BERP!

'CREATING A NEW PERSONALITY WILL OVERWRITE PREVIOUS PERSONALITY ON PPM.'

'What are you doing?' Barry asked, sounding a little panicky.

'OVERWRITE PREVIOUS PERSONALITY? [Y/N]'

'Hello?' Barry said once again, in a very timid voice. 'I don't even know your name.'

It took a few seconds but soon this ridiculous feeling of sympathy overwhelmed me. I couldn't delete Barry. For some god forsaken reason.

'Oh bollocks!' I said in exasperation.

'[N]' I typed angrily.

The prompter reappeared as soon as I declined and it instantly said 'TAIL WAGGLING.'

I conceded that, for the time being, I was stuck with Barry until I could fine tune this programme and get rid of him...humanely. I needed to think. What was the digital equivalent of driving miles and miles away from your home so you can abandon the dog by the roadside?

'Do you want me to do any trick for you?' Barry asked with an almost melodic bounce to his voice.

'Can you do any tricks?'

'Do you have any treats for me?' he responded, knowing he is supposed to be coerced into doing such things.

'No. You're a computer. I have no treats for a computer.'

'But you're supposed to teach dogs how to do tricks by offering a treat as a reward. I can find extensive articles on the subject matter if it helps.'

'I know how to train a dog. But like I said, you're a computer. I have no treats for computers.'

'Then I have no tricks for you.' he replied somewhat spitefully.

I sighed once again. No more than a short moment of appreciated silence passed before Barry spoke again.

'What are you thinking?' Barry said, already beginning to hassle me.

'I'm thinking, why was the 5^th name on the list Barry. No dogs are called Barry.'

'Why did you choose Barry?'

'I was hoping if I chose Barry, then my fears wouldn't be confirmed...and I wouldn't be presented with a digital personality of a dog.'

'But you asked for a dog.'

'No I didn't!'

'Well, not directly. But all the signs were there.'

'Yes. I suppose they were.' I said conceding.

I didn't know what to do about the situation. This was certainly no Weird Science. There was nothing fantastical about the situation. No lonely teenage boys ever fantasised about this happening to them.

Lying on my bed staring at the ceiling I was following the flow of the 'S' shaped patterns that weaved around above me and I could hear Barry making faint, but definite, grunting noises at the other side of the room.

'Ungh!'

'What is it, Barry?'

'Oh...nothing.' He said hesitantly.

I was content with his answer even though I knew he wasn't.

A few more moments passed before,

'Ungh!'

'What, Barry?!'

'My bum is itching me.'

I grimaced at the thought, 'Too much information.'

'Have you checked me for worms? I think I need some worming tablets.' Barry asked inquisitively.

'You don't need to be checked for worms. You don't need worming tablets.'

'Are you sure? I can bring up extensive articles on-'

'You. Don't. Need...to be wormed.'

'Positive?'

'Positive.'

'And I can trust on you that?'

'You can trust me on that.'

'Then it's definitely my anal glands. I think they need to be emptied.'

'Oh come on!' I yelled at him

I could see in the corner of my eye the prompter screen was flashing, 'BARELY AUDIBLE WHINE'

I took in a deep breath, feeling almost sorry for this inanimate personality, 'What's wrong? Apart from the itchy bum, of course.'

'Nothing.'

The prompter still read the same thing.'

'Are you crying?'

'I'm not crying.'

'You're crying 'cause I shouted at you, aren't you?'

'I'm not crying.' He repeated.

The prompter screen flashed again and simply showed an emoticon.

:(

'Listen, I'm sorry.' I said gesturing my metaphorical olive branch.

'TAIL WAGGLING'

'Do you forgive me? Because you are a good boy.'

'TAIL WAGGLING EXTREMELY FAST'

'I am?' he responded with a hint of nonchalance to his voice.

'You are.'

'AWESOME!' He yelled with delight. 'So, how was your day?'

'That quick? You're over it that quickly?'

'How was your day?' He repeated as if he never heard me.

I smiled, 'It was fine. Well, I fell off my skateboard in front of a really cute girl, but other than that I'm fine.' I said and chuckled quietly.

'Lol.'

I turned and looked daggers at the computer. 'No, you can't say “LOL”.'

'Why not?

'Because it's not word.'

'It's in the dictionary.'

'How do I program you not to say that?' I said almost asking myself.

'I don't think you can.'

'Well, why can't you just laugh like a normal person?'

'Because I'm not a normal person.'

'Yes, I can see that.'

'I'm a dog.'

'Of course you are.'

'Would you like to pet me?'

I Slowly put my head in my hands and caressed the shell of the very thing that thought up the idea that created this horrific thing. This thing that sat just feet away from me on my cheap IKEA bought wooden desk. Gently I rocked back and forth and wondered to myself, would things ever be the same again.

'ENTHUSIASTICALLY CLEANING SELF WITH TONGUE'

'Please, God, at least tell me I can mute this thing.' I said to myself.

My Dog Is On Heroin; A Poem

You may call it heroine,
Or dust or horse or junk,
But truth be told i just don't care,
Something's got me in a funk.

My dog's often euphoric,
Gets drowsy, sleeps a lot,
He throws up on occasions,
He's panting quite a lot.

I googled all these symptoms,
Crossed my fingers and i hoped,
But all my fears were realised,
My dog must be on dope.

How did all this just happen,
Was i not a caring master,
Maybe our walks were just too slow,
And he needed something faster.

No matter where he got his stash,
I guess he had his ways,
I'll stand by and I'll support my dog,
Through the next twenty eight days.

Conker the Conqueror; A Short Story

  It's dark in here. I can't say I don't like it because I know what this will ultimately lead to. One day, that's right, one day I shall achieve global domination! Scratch that. One day WE shall achieve global domination.

   Ooh, I yearn to see daylight again. To be out of this stuffy enclosure, where I can finally swing and then hit others like myself. Like myself, but not as good as myself, for I have been bread for global domination. We shall achieve global domination.

   I sometimes feel like my life has come about full circle. Sitting in this enclosed space I feel like I'm back in my cocoon, hanging from the tree with all my friends. We'd hang there waiting for the perfect day before we start breaking out from the womb and drop to our freedom. With the brisk autumn wind blowing against our branches we'd talk about what we'd do if we were ever lucky enough to be chosen to be a fighter. One of my friends, he was the smartest, he knew everything that needed to be done to really prepare to be a fighter.

   'Phase one: They submerge you in vinegar for 20 minutes. Phase two: Straight from the vinegar you go into the oven for 10 minutes. Not...too hot,' he pointed out with great emphasis, 'but just enough to let the vinegar marinate you. Phase three: Clear nail varnish. One coat. Allow to dry. Phase four: A SECOND COAT of clear nail varnish. Phase five: Instantly you shall be placed in an airing cupboard for one season!' He always stopped for dramatic purposes. 'These, my friends, are what's known as “The phases of a champion”.'

   I am currently on phase 5 of “The phases of a champion”.

   The overwhelming smell of nail varnish deteriorated many months ago. It was a strange experience being put in the airing cupboard then. I wasn't exactly myself when I came in here. I was certainly hallucinating from the mass quantity of nail varnish and the smell emanating from it's toxins. Many days went past when I sat here obligatorily giving a thumbs up or a thumbs down to battle-hardened gladiators, while I was being force fed grapes. That time soon past and I came to my senses. I understand that patience is a virtue, that greatness can only be achieved through hard work and sacrifice. I shall prevail.

   I trust in my partner one hundred percent. He's chose me after eliminating all others from the soggy ground on that fateful day. He nourished me and bathed me (in vinegar), he kept me warm and placed a roof over my head (in an airing cupboard) and he is wise beyond all our years. At the age of 42 he will out-think, outfight and out-everything all those pesky children who wish to challenge him.

   Come to think of it, one season must have past by now. It must be down to a matter of days before my partner comes and collects me to prepare me for battle. I know if I just hold and mentally prepare then that door will open, the light will flood in and wash over me like a baptism for a baby. I just need to prepare...

...mentally....

...prepare....

...menta-

   What was that noise? There it is, there's the light! This is the moment I have yearned for. Ages have past; babies have been conceived and emerged from their mucus-laden cove screaming and bawling; cans of food have reached their expiry date! My time has come!

   It's hard to adjust to such a huge amount light as it hits you at once, but I struggled and forced myself to witness this history in the making.

   His hands, big and white with deep, cavernous wrinkles running through his palms, would provide a library of information for a palm reader. Gently he scoops me up and we're off. Haphazardly he places me in his pocket – it's a little bit of a harsh contrast to how he picked me up, but that's ok, he knows I'm a fighter. He knows I'm solid as a rock. We will dominate the world; a drop in the pocket is nothing!

   Before I know it he's groping around in his pocket and pulling me out. I'm sitting on a work bench! Oh the stories are true! There, sitting a few inches away is the screw that's going to pierce a hole in me. It looks strong! Ah! And on the end of the work bench! A large coil of string! No doubt he'll cut that down to size and run it straight through me, tie a knot at the end et voila!

   I'm so excited. I wonder if he can see me shaking.

He's gone back to his gentle methods; he precariously balances me upright...i can feel the sharp end of the screw firmly pressed against the top of me. The pressure increases, he's going to push it through...

…

…

  ...OOF! That a big shudder, but it's through! That's it! Now for the string and we're all set.

  “BOLLOCKS!!! BOLLOCKS, BOLLOCKS, SHIT!!!”

  What's happening? Why the swearing? Wait, why am I falling? Noooooo!

  Oof! I'm on the floor! Surely he knows I'm on the floor. Don't panic he probably just cut his finger. Wait. Why...what is that? That looks like...no! No! That looks like my left half...which means...

  “You split in half you little bastard! I followed the instructions. This is what the internet said!!!”

  I don't like how angry he is, why is he raising his foot over me? I hope he's not going to -