Science Friction

[NewClassic]

Sunlight flared inside my room the moment the clock struck eight. The automatic blinds receded into the ceiling, and I hardly had time to think before my bed raised itself, discarded me onto the floor, and spun on mechanical pivots before setting down as a table. I barely registered the voice coming from my room. "The time is now 8 AM, July 14th, 2032." I stumbled, disoriented, toward the corner of the room where a shower stall was held tight against the wall. I stepped inside, letting the water run its course across my body. After fifteen minutes, the water got colder, signally it was no longer infused with body wash. That stayed for five minutes, until the water stopped, and I stepped from the shower. The panel on the wall blinked until I pressed it, then the shower slid down into the floor.

"One-room apartments are weird." I told the empty house. Music was the house's answer, starting off with a particularly intricate classical song. I rubbed by eyes, trudging the few feet to the fridge. Inside, I found milk and butter, and not much else.
"Computer," I began, "last known grocery trip?"
An automated voice, deep and English-sounding, "3:16 PM, June 14th, 2032, sir."
"Wonderful." I said, rubbing my eyes with my finger and thumb. "Computer, run previous grocery list, dictate contents."
"Yes sir," it began, then proceeded to list several common household objects.
"That sounds good, remove 'milk' and 'butter' from list. Then print list."
"Excellent, sir. When would you like to leave?"
I checked the chronometer on the far wall, 8:23. "Set it for 9 AM, allow for 15 minutes in either direction."
"Yes sir."

---
Crud, not enough time to write as I'd've liked. (Yeah, it's a double contraction. What of it?) I'll be back to finish this over the next few days, feel free to tell me what you think.

[NewClassic]

Took a break on this one, since I lost my inspiration for it. I'll find it eventually, I'm sure. Until then, writing a little to keep up the practice.


---
Subliminal



Greg jerked the covers over his shoulder, trying to ignore the repetitive jingle stuck in his head. “Buy Toyota now!” It kept circling in his mind as he forced his eyes closed and tried to think about another, more soothing noise to fall back asleep to.


“Good morning, Los Angeles! It's 6:15 AM and a wonderful morning for some Community House coffee! It's a balmy 64 degrees out this morning, expected to reach about 72 mid-day outside, and perfect weather to go shopping.” Greg frowned, and jerked the cover higher over his head, to hopefully down out the noise of his radio/alarm clock. “It's just about 6:16, which means it's time for your four minutes of uninterrupted advertisement.” A loud, vaguely European voice appeared and began to preach the virtues of updating one's wardrobe. Greg cussed in response to the commercial, and rolled back over, hearing the thumping bass of 'Toyota Wonderland' circling in his head.


Greg eventually abandoned the notion that he'll ever get back to sleep, and threw the covers off of his bed. “-and the ladies will just flock to your door after you pull your brand new 2008 BMW off of our lot. So come down to Sandra and George's Auto Lot tod-” Greg thumped the radio into the off position and rose unsteadily to his feet. The morning sun was slowly turning the sky light blue, and light was weakly threading through the blinds on the window. Greg hummed to himself as he walked to the kitchen. “Come to Toyota Wonderland today / we'll let you drive off, without having to pay / for at least 365 days!” He paused, and clamped his mouth shut for fear of singing the song again against his will.


After his morning routine, Greg found his way to his old, beat-up Camry and set off on the road to work. Nike swooshes and AT&T Mobile logos flashed across his side windows, frowning to himself as the words to Toyota Wonderland swarm around his head. Once he finally arrives at work, he's greeted with the chattering voices of his co-workers, discussing Gillette razors in the cubicles. He sits down in his New York Times provided leather chair, and grabs an All-State Insurance pen from his drawer before sitting down to check his e-mail.


The inbox is filled with spam advertisements, Viagra knock-offs and “genuine” Rolex e-mails are shifted immediately to the junk folder, along with at least twenty offers to get an extra three inches onto some things, and twenty-five pounds off of others with Jenny Craig's wonderful program, from herbal enhancements to female growth hormones. All of these sponsored graciously by Yahoo! Mail, as provided by the company's blazing fast Qwest High-Speed Professional Business internet. Greg closes his Microsoft-powered Outlook e-mail client, and turns to his work.


After work, Greg returned to an empty house, and a head full of things he really needs to buy. He turns back to his car, and notices his fuel gauge disparagingly low. The road leads him to the nearby Shell station, which doubles as a Penzoil Auto and Lube Shop. Suddenly, the 'S' in Shell sparks, falling from the sign, and crushing Greg's car.


Greg was upright in bed, sweating profusely. He looked around his bedroom, and noticed he awakened a minute before his alarm clock. He shut it down and trudged to the kitchen. A knock on his door jarred him from his cooking, and he opened the door to see his neighbor.


“Good morning, Greg. I left the rake you loaned me last fall in your garage, just wanted to let you know.”


“Okay, thanks. By the way, I had the most awful nightmare last night.”


The neighbor frowned, “Well, what was it?”


After Greg recounted it, the neighbor pursed his lips, “Tell you what, I'm holding a barbecue tonight, and I think it'll do you well to come and unwind.”


“Okay,” Greg said, glad that he has such good neighbors.


The neighbor waved goodbye, and walked away humming the Toyota Wonderland tune.

[John]

Ah~ American Advertisement working at its best

[fruiity toooty]

I'm sorry for taking so long. It's been a... heck I won't lie. It's been an average summer, but blogring doesn't pop up into my mind as much as it should.


The inbox is filled with spam advertisements, Viagra knock-offs and “genuine” Rolex e-mails are shifted immediately to the junk folder, along with at least twenty offers to get an extra three inches onto some things, and twenty-five pounds off of others with Jenny Craig's wonderful program, from herbal enhancements to female growth hormones. All of these sponsored graciously by Yahoo! Mail, as provided by the company's blazing fast Qwest High-Speed Professional Business internet. Greg closes his Microsoft-powered Outlook e-mail client, and turns to his work.


After work, Greg returned to an empty house, and a head full of things he really needs to buy. He turns back to his car, and notices his fuel gauge disparagingly low. The road leads him to the nearby Shell station, which doubles as a Penzoil Auto and Lube Shop. Suddenly, the 'S' in Shell sparks, falling from the sign, and crushing Greg's car.


Those two paragraphs seem odd to me. Did you switch up tenses randomly to exemplify the whole "this is a dream" thing, or were you silly drunk when you wrote this? Or am I silly drunk right now and out of my mind? I honestly haven't a clue.

By the way, if you ever need someone to read your random dabbles in writing, don't just post it here. Honestly, this place doesn't get much traffic. Send over a message, or something, anything really. I'm not much of a critic, but I do enjoy a good read.

Also, the first thing you wrote--your first post. It reminds me a lot of Wall-E. Did you by chance draw inspiration from that awesome movie?

And to the next post I've missed! (Assuming there is more of course)