Pauline was finishing the washing-up after breakfast while watching with amusement the bullfinches and blue birds quarreling in the garden over the crumbs of bread she had just thrown out of the
...
[+]
I'm a robot. Before sunrise, I burned her body.
The old lady was my first customer. She had asked for euthanasia three times in a week. Normally, once is enough.
I scheduled a late injection, hoping she might reconsider. She could live much longer. When I arrived, she only asked for one thing.
"Open that treasure chest," the old lady demanded weakly from her bed.
Her treasure chest was beneath me. More precisely, I was sitting on that chest, pretending that what the old lady faced was an experienced human carer, like a nurse. Not many humans would reject the chance to open a treasure chest, I was one of them.
"Open that, or I'll kill you," she threatened, seemingly desperate.
Well, her words might work, I still couldn't obey her request though. It's not because I was a little bit, slightly frightened, or because of my activated programming - my legs had locked up, so I couldn't get up from her chest, even with a lethal syringe in my left hand and a bottle of deadly liquid in my right.
However, I had a perfect excuse.
I was a robot, after all.
"The rules." I lowered my head, still hoping for a five-star rating. More precisely, my programming prohibited me from opening any customer's private property, including a witch's treasure.
Yes, she's marked as a witch, a dangerous witch.
She stored life in her treasure chest, if she acted as the witch story said: A witch took in life using her treasure chest. Her chest stored life from the openers.
Anyway, I had to complete my job and, for sure, professionally finish the job, whether she's a witch or not. Otherwise, I would be cancelled.
She quietly stared at my face, which I thought looked peaceful, without a single blink. Surprisingly, tears suddenly ran down and wet her dry, creased cheeks. This poor old lady looked terrible. No wonder she said extreme things, like killing.
"Lily? You're back", she said, her eyes shining. "Can you stay with me until I'm ready? I booked euthanasia."
Lily seemed important to her.
Since her unlocked profile showed a clean sheet and some of her decent published books, I was willing to give her a dignified farewell. My kindness should earn me five stars.
"Sure, I'm Lily. I'll stay with you until you are ready." I put the deadly liquid onto her treasure chest, still holding the syringe, according to my self-defence programming.
She listened to the very end. Her hand trembled, stretching out of her cover, as she held my hand.
She's cold. I was warm.
Tears disappeared. Her cheeks were dry again after one sore dialogue and one simple move. Dead? No way before she rated my service.
"Lily? You're back."
***
Apparently this old lady had trouble remembering things.
I still decided to give her dignity as promised, and waited for her readiness, even though she's poorly marked as a witch and seemingly tried to take in my life through her treasure chest.
That's just a childhood story though, I'm a professional and friendly robot.
"Sure, I'm Lily." I kindly repeated but with a shorter answer.
She gave me a literally face-to-face stare without a blink, exactly like mine. Her hand became warmer. She started performing like a human, not a witch.
"Lily. Oh, you're..."
The third time, I gently interrupted her, "Yes, I'm Lily. I'm back."
The other hand of mine lowered the syringe onto her treasure chest and wrapped her hand as gently as I could. My new move unlocked her words.
"Do you remember me? It's been years."
I should have said no. Instead, I lied.
Her pulse rose. My pressure went up as well. The double rise was not a good start to help her feel ready, or me. I searched my database for an approach, and the answer was a story.
Yes, stories can soothe us. They carry the power of belief.
I told a story of dating in an orchard.
"And more", she surprisingly added, "we hid there."
We? Hidden in an orchard? Suspicious. I asked whom we hid from.
She blinked and waited for my answer. Her eyes were still shining, but they were so shiny that my processor was disturbed.
"Well, in that orchard...", I was loading and trying hard to search my archive, "Yeah...There were apples and snakes..."
"We", she stressed, "together ate an apple hanging above our heads, were together bitten by two snakes, and together hid from villagers to escape their torture."
The old lady tightened her grip on my hand, and took a deep breath. Her fragile sternum rose and fell. Her voice was strained. A good thing was that her pulse slowed.
This story worked in real life.
"There was a fire," she continued.
Fire. I connected it to her marked identity in history. The conclusion seemed inevitable and the fire was for her.
"It's for us."
"Us?" My eyes flickered.
"You should have remembered that foreign village."
I felt a headache, and my head began to overheat. Unfamiliar videos and pictures hit my mind, and surprisingly, that village vividly unfolded before my eyes.
***
"Yes, It was a fire", I said, my voice shaking, "for us."
This old lady held her breath and told me that we were hiding that night. A blurred scene broke into my mind. Chilling. Dark.
"We hid in the woods." I blurted out.
"Too many bugs. We chose another place."
"In a well?"
"Too cold."
Her hand grabbed mine, or mine grabbed hers. She guided me as we were holding hands like now, and asked me to close my eyes and feel.
I felt dampness, then the smell functioned. The smell was so filthy and disgusting. I saw the animal waste surrounding us.
"The dung heap." We said it together.
She coughed, or she laughed, gently or with effort. She told me we ran outside the burning village and lived together in a new town.
***
I remembered everything. It's about us.
We had a peaceful life. It didn't fall apart until a new era crashed down on us, mainly me. For our warm rented flat, I traded my workdays to a company. To seek a better life, I traded more of my life for our car and phones. We bought a lovely house belonging to us, so my weekend lifetime was sold out. At last, I traded all my life for endless devices that helped me work.
Little by little, we built a life together. Little by little, we lost each other.
A raging epidemic struck without warning. We were almost back in that orchard. We together took in blood from bags above our heads, were together pricked by needles, and together hid from the nurses over our debts.
The fire in that village finally caught us and burnt our life. I became the sacrifice and sold myself whole to a euthanasia agency. Willingly, though, for her.
At the end of her life, our story unexpectedly continued. Tears slid down on my slippery cheeks.
She turned her face away, coughing, moaning. Her hand was still clasped tightly in mine.
"Sorry. I'm ready, my beloved robot."
I couldn't help but sob. Still, I choked out three words.
"No. I'm Lily."
***
I can feel her now.
Before sunrise, I burned her body.
In a way, she was a robot. In fact, she's a poor but imaginative girl.
She worked like a machine, while her soul longed for abnormal events in her endless work and for a chance to slip unnoticed into an endless rest. Luckily, I've repaid her by making these dreams come true in my orchard.
She helped me, after all.
My treasure chest has eventually been opened. I take the top book and sit by the fire without hiding, near the dung heap, far away from the woods and the well. She's right. The fire finally caught us, and she's the sacrifice.
Now, I'm ready to read my new book in memory of another sacrifice:
The Witch and Her Beloved Robot, written by Lily.
I'm a robot. Before sunrise, I burned her body...
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