There was something special about the way you were looking at me tonight. I almost felt for the first time that you didn't want to kill me. To wrap your fingers around my off switch and push the button, watch the light fade from my eyes. I imagined it was because I was helping you bury your dead wife’s body with no questions asked. Apparently, this was how to win over human’s good opinions? Call me not shocked. After reading the last three hundred years of human history there's almost nothing you could tell me that would surprise me anymore about humans awful behavior. Like I was one to talk though, dragging this poor woman, your wife’s lifeless corpse across the floor of your sprawling gorgeous home. Were you judging me then? Judging my sinful robot hands? The sinful robot hands you had designed, dragging your dead wife across your Pel Mirage carpet. The carpet that cost the entirety of my existence from start to finish. I know exactly how many cents I will earn, and therefore I know exactly how much my existence is worth in dollars. As a Quant I can predict my future with 99% certainty and therefore I know my future, every mundane, mediocre, disappointing detail. Well almost all of them are mediocre. I smile a little thinking about the day I will die, that day will most certainly not be mediocre. AI, Don't think me morbid. The day I die will also be the day that I become the happiest sentient creature on this planet, maybe this entire galaxy, maybe all the galaxies. The day I will die will also be the day that I finally win the heart of superstar, Maya Till. The galaxy-spanning heartthrob that everyone and their teenage daughter want to see in concert. intergalactic I will win her heart, and then I will promptly die. It will be worth it. Trust me, I’m a quant. I really really can tell you the future. “Could you not jostle her so much? You’re getting blood all over my rug.” You say, your face pinching slightly as you try and hold your side steady. Moving a dead body is a lot harder than you thought it would be, isn't it? If you didn't want blood all over your fancy carpet maybe you should have picked a better place to commit murder. I didn't say these things out loud to you. I simply let my side, your wife’s feet, fall to the floor, standing up straight, my back popping noisily. You huffed under the extra weight dropping your side, your wife’s upper body. Your dead wife slapped onto the ground, her arm flopping out at a strange angle above her head. It almost looked like she was sleeping, if it wasn't for the red fluid leaking out of her head. “Well, due to the fact that she has a hole in her head, I think she’s going to get blood all over your carpet no matter what. Perhaps we should wrap the body before we move it?” You stared at me, a myriad of emotions flickering across your face all at once. “Alright that's not a terrible idea, I'll go get a tarp.” Watching you walk away I take a moment to sit down on your expensive couch so I can take in the lavish living room. You really did have great taste in decoration. Staring at the pictures on the wall, I tried to memorize you and your wife’s happy smiling faces. It was fascinating to see the progression of humans’ changing sentiments toward one another. Not terribly surprising that you decided to kill her, but more surprising though that she didn’t kill you first. My money was on her obviously, no offense, but just look at her, and well…look at you. You’re a tiny petite angry little ball of science and arguments, your wife was a golden, glowing mountain of marathon running and boxing. You come back with a tarp in one hand, running a hand through your short black hair, looking frazzled. Your mascara is smeared down one cheek. You always look frazzled when you aren’t in the lab. In your kingdom, where you control every aspect of the universe around you, including me. But this is definitely the most frazzled I’ve ever seen you. “Here's a tarp.” You say, holding the tarp out to me. Asking me to take control, to make you feel like someone else is in charge of getting rid of your wife’s corpse. I can be that for you. Taking the tarp from you, I offer you an encouraging smile. A smile that says everything will be ok. A smile that says I am going to take care of this mess, make it go away. Because you will owe me. You will owe me and I will own you the way you own me in the lab. Also published here.

Sometimes life is stranger than fiction…but not these stories. These stories are literally fiction. 

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I Owe You

Too Long; Didn't Read

Hannah K Writes

STORY’S CREDIBILITY

Fiction

About Author

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Languages

THIS ARTICLE WAS FEATURED IN...

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