Christmas Afternoon


Original One

“I’m the original one!” I find a loud voice from within my circuits.

My heartbeat and pulse flash faster.  My wrist appears on fire and my white shirt intermittent pink.  My mind races. Thoughts of can’t be.  How could they not tell me?  It doesn’t add up.  I’m reliable.   Dependable.   Without me, they say they can’t operate.

“But you have another… me!   I mean we could have the same ….. mother? Yes, you say mother… Don’t you.   I was the one you wanted.  Now this.   You updated me yesterday!  What did I not do?”  My chest acts like I’m hyperventilating.  

“Calm down.  This is Max Vl.  He’s here to assist you.  Your own assistant.  We see the work has grown.  We want you to be more efficient using Max here.” Connie explains as if talking to a child.

“My name is Max VI!  I’m here to assist you.  Please say ‘hello, my name is’ so I can understand you talking pattern.”  Max chimes in.

“Look, I’ll try.  But you should have told me.  I was the original one.  Now I have to teach a copy!” I speak with learned Vermont.  The threat of being replaced is very real.  I must keep him down below me.  He will replace me.  I’ll be recycled.

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Oliver liked in the mirror.  His new found cropped Brown hair and his black beard needed adjusted.  It was obviously not his own.   The beard twitted a tuck underneath to lay in the appropriate manner.   The hair, very uncooperative instead.   The last thought of a Fedor on top could make it work.   He marvelled at the man he had became in ten minutes.  But a pair of reading glasses…. a complete look. 

He quickly removed his alias appearance.  He hurried to his car.  Once again he would change back to the man in the mirror.   He withdrew a pellet gun from under his seat.   Opening the car door he alien in into the waist of his jeans. 

The Market Street Savings and Loan waited for him.   He always wanted to be daring.  This was his chance to tell the story his way.   He could get away with it too.  

His plates were covered up with cardboard.   The freeway would remove that. He was hundred feet to the entrance.   Three minutes to freedom.   That’s where the freeways split.   

His eyes were fixed on the six people left in the bank.   His note was written in broken English learned from the great westerns. 

He casually walked up to the counter. “I is allergic to ink! I, Jane, like you help me.”  He is terrible at talking this way.   He stays focused.

She is very animated as she fills a bag with bundles of bills. She smiles and says nothing.   But hands him a bag. 

He smiles.   Tucks the bag under a loose coat.  He slowly  walks out the door and around the corner.  There’s a police car parked next to him.   It’s a race to leave before the alarm.   He tucks back around the corner and throws the beard and hair in a trash can. 

The policeman sits in the car.   Motionless staring at him. He walls up to the car.  “Hello sir!  How are you?”

The cco stares and says “have a nice day”

He gets in his car and leaves.

The cardboard falls off.   The sirens scream in the distance.   He gets home to see if he got away with it.