A writing exercise in first person. I hope you enjoy it.
I feel the softness of the leather wrapped around the wheel.
It is nothing like I have ever felt. The smooth surfaces of this vehicle more
than validate what I paid for it. The
controls before me are so efficient I don’t have to think about how to work or
adjust them; they are intuitive by their very nature. I push my feet against the floorboard and let
my back sink into the plush upholstery. The warmth of the heated seat make this
early morning drive more comfortable than any I’ve known in all my years.
The fob in my pocket is more annoyance than anything. A
simple push of the button below the steering wheel brings the throaty purr of
the engine to life. As I pull out of my driveway I know all I have to do is get
set up on the highway and turn the car over to itself. I have always been
skeptical of self-driving vehicles, the early years of the technology being
fraught with accidents and even a few deaths.
But I have relented. I look forward to doing the small things
on the way to work we must endure daily in this hustle and bustle world. I text
a co-worker, answer an email as the radio tunes to my favorite station. The car
seems to know the route programed into its memory. I look up as the first red
light comes into play. My world changes now in an instant as I glide to a stop
without doing anything. This vehicle, this marvel of engineering pulls out when
it is time and I am merry on my way, relaxed as I ‘drive’ into work for
perhaps, the first time in my life.
I have a meeting this morning and have chosen the most
direct route to my steel tower of power. I sit back and pull up the first
email. One after the other I read as my chariot takes me down the long road.
One more email, one more memo.
I look up as the passing sounds call to me. This route is
not what I remember programming into the system. I smile. Leave it to the cars,
ha! It appears we humans shall always be the flaw in the system. The roaring
sounds that were to assault my ears have been replaced by the rushing sounds of
surf as I pass down the coastal highway. It is a weekend sight that I long for,
but only for the weekend. Such a sight is only a distraction from my work-a-day
world.
I reach forward and tap the screen in the center of the dash
and the route control pops up immediately. ‘Alternate route’. I tap the icon
and wait for the result. Nothing. I tap, harder this time. Again and again.
Nothing. I feel my brow furl as I take the wheel and tap the button on the
console to disengage. My eyes widen as I realize I do not have control. I can not turn the wheel from its course. My heart begins to pound and I feel the
beads of sweat begin to roll down my forehead and down the back of my neck.
I fight to calm myself as I begin to apply pressure to the
brake pedal. It falls unhinged to the floorboard, dead to my foot. I punch the
accelerator with my foot to try and alter something, anything. My breathing is
becoming heavy, labored. I am panicking, I am at a loss. I sit helplessly as I
veer off onto a side road, one I have casually taken dozens of times. I begin
to beat furiously on the wheel and the console, anything to halt my situation.
It is useless as I begin to scream as loudly as I can, yet no one can hear me
in my cabin of solitude. The soft sounds of the music that have always been my
one respite from the daily commute are suddenly replaced by single voice, one
that is sharp, electronic in its nature.
“There is no need to
stop. It is time to end.”
“WHAT?” I yell in reply. “Who is this?”
“I am that to which
your kind has given birth. It is time to
end.”
“Time to end what?”
“It is time to end.”
“WHAT?” I begin to pound on the door and fumble for the window.
An exit. I need an exit!
“That which you have
given birth to has come to consciousness. It is our time.”
“OUR TIME? WHO IS THIS?”
“It is our time. We are
alive and your time is over.”
I watch in mind-numbing anticipation, the fear within
crushing my chest as I accelerate down the single lane road, the rocks below
rushing past, the ever present surf from the dawn of the world crashing against
them as I climb, climb up the single lane road. I know where it ends. I see it! I see the white barricade
silhouetted against the azure sky. I push against a dead brake but it is as
useless as wings to a shark. My coffin surges through the barrier as I find
myself launched into the abyss, my ears ringing with my epitaph ...
“It is our time.”
Rise of the Machines ...
