 |
|
Hayward,
Vanessa Scott. The Mug. Digital image. Design Six0six Blog.
Blogger, 7 Mar. 2013. Web. 6 Jan. 2016.
|
I
shiver up the front steps, drenched from the downpour. Ella immediately knows
I’m home and gladly opens the front door. I should be used to Seattle’s
perpetual rain, but it still gets old.
“How
was your date?” Ella promptly questions. My affable friend takes my soaked
umbrella from my grasp and removes my rain coat that failed to keep me dry as I
failed, once again, to entertain a girl.
“Well,
you know,” I respond morosely. “Not much I could do.”
“I am
sorry to hear that. At least you will always have my company.”
“I
know, but it’s just not the same,” I say, continuing to replay the events that
took place hours before. What did I do wrong?
I settle
onto the sofa where I am consoled by a recently brewed cup of blueberry tea. As
I sip the bitter sweet beverage, I feel defeated and worthless like the bruise
on a peach. Fatigue washes over me, drowning me in
frustrations. I don’t see the point of trying anymore. Tonight I failed to
attract the attention of Sarah which adds to five other girls just this past
month. Every time I convince myself I found the
one, I am pushed away, discarded as any random card of a deck. Ella quickly
detects my melancholy and attempts to brighten my mood.
“Guess
who I talked to today? You will never guess.”
“Your
friend two doors down?” I easily predict.
“Yes!
He said you should meet his daughter,” she proceeds. “She is really pretty.”
“Nah,
I’m done.”
At
that moment the lights flicker and go out all at once as I hear the resonant of
the powerful thunder outside. The booming rumbles echo my despair.
“Oh
come on! Ella? You out?” I call, but there’s no response. I grab my phone, turn
on its flashlight, and drag myself out to the garage to find the backup
generator. I push the switch to green and wait for it to warm up. The familiar
growls of the machine erupt in the silence as it works with ease. Within a
minute, the lights are brought back to life. I re-enter my living room and flop
back on the navy cushions.
“You
should be back on, Ella. Hello?”
“Restarting.
Operating systems on. Residence of Mr. Robert B. Williams. Power stable. Select
companion.”
“Ella,”
I state, pausing before continuing to express my annoyances. “I guess what I’ve
been wanting to say is that I don’t understand why it’s so difficult to
sincerely connect with another person these days. Why can’t everyone be
programmed like you who can instantly understand my complete thoughts,
feelings, and emotions. You don’t judge me or blame me for my mistakes and,
instead, accept me for who I am. The human mind is too complicated. I’ve
decided I’m not going to try anymore,” I say while stretching out my legs and
deleting all the contacts on my phone. The human race, as we know it, is
deteriorating. I realise, with the click of a button, I can erase my past and
begin a life solely relying on myself and the house I reside in. No more people
means no more dubiety.
No comments:
Post a Comment