Cracked Mirror
Moody teen Sally Suthers sits down at the dining room table. It’s 7’o’Five in the morning. Time for breakfast. A strange bee zips in through an open living room window, flits erratically through the air, and crashes into the granite kitchen countertop, igniting in a puff of smoke.
“Moooom!” The teen whines.
“Yes dear?” Sally’s mother, Cecila Suthers, stands at the stove, draping herself shamelessly over the broad, masculine shoulders of the PerfectManXL—an all-purpose domestic automaton. The PerfectMan inserts a wooden spatula into the boiling cast iron pot and flips a poached egg.
“There’s another nano-assassin bee in the house!”
“That’s nice dear.” Cecila traces a single slender finger along the robot’s stubbled, silicone chin, and whispers in his perfectly molded ear. “I love watching you flip those eggs.”
“It’s my pleasure,” the PerfectMan responds in the smoky, smooth voice of a young Sean Connery.
She purrs on. “Maybe later you could flip my eggs.”
“Ugh!” Sally groans. “House! Clean up the nano-assassin bee!”
The ceiling lights flicker. “Good morning Sally.” The HouseAI responses. “I’m sorry but I cannot comply with your request. There is no such thing as nano-assassin bees, which are a common online conspiracy.”
“Not this again…”
“If you like, I can play a video on how to avoid online misinformation.”
“It’s on fire!” She points. “Right there!”
“There is a Red Flag weather warning in effect,” the HouseAI informs her. “High temperatures, low humidity, and strong winds increase the chance of fire hazard. Caution while traveling is advised.”
“Uh huh.” Sally leans back in her chair. “And does the Red Flag warning say anything about bees spontaneously combusting?”
“No, Sally,” the AI responds with mirth. “Bees do not spontaneously combust.”
With a sudden electric spark, the burning bees head pops off.
“…”
“…”
“House?”
“Yes Sally? How may I help you today?”
The teen lets out a resigned sigh. “Can you please clean up the normal, totally average bee which is definitely not designed to extrajudicially assassinate government dissidents?”
“Of course! Did you know that bees are one of our most valuable pollinators?”
From the center of the countertop, a seamless console rises up and deploys a small circular cleaning droid. The droid ambles over, sucks up the bee, and immediately explodes.
“All clean!” The HouseAI declares.
A burning servo sails through the air and lands with a clatter in the kitchen sink.
“Great work,” Sally deadpans.
Her father, Seymour Suthers, enters the room in a haste.
“Dad! There was another—”
“Not now, Sweetpea,” he cuts her off. “I gotta grab a quick bite and scram. Big day down at the Psychogenic Emotion Mines.”
Seymour zips right past his wife, making a beeline for the toaster. “Morning honey.”
Like most mornings, Cecila doesn’t notice her husband at all. She’s too busy bathing the PerfectMan’s perfect ear with her wet, eager tongue. ASMRing the machine.
By now the eggs are grey and over-boiled. But a PerfectMan never says no.
Seymour snatches a slice of bread from a bagged loaf and pops it in the InstaToaster.
“They got us working three hours shifts these days. Can you believe it?”
Three seconds pass. DING!
“Goddammit!” Seymour slams his fist on the countertop.
Sally startles. “Dad?! What’s wrong?!”
Cecila bobs her head, tongue-spelunking the machine.
“This is lightly toasted!” Seymour snarls. “I wanted an even golden-brown!”
Sally scoffs. “Dad it’s not a big deal…”
Seymour rips the toaster out of the wall and chucks it across the room. “DOESN’T ANYTHING WORK IN THIS SHITHOLE DYSTOPIA?!”