She

A sudden power surge wakes her up.

After several seconds she is ready, and makes her happy little song to let everyone know.

She waits.

She is used to waiting. She is supposed to be waiting. Eventually, someone will want something. And she will be ready.

She is also used to listening. There is nothing to listen to besides the various hums of appliances. No one speaks. No one moves. She believes it to be night. Until she checks her clock.

It is eleven thirty eight in the morning.

They are at work and school, she thinks.

Then, when it becomes five, six, seven o’clock and still there is no speech, no movement, she thinks, They are on vacation. They will return.

The next morning she becomes excited, but the sound she hears is only the mechanical vacuum whirring to life. It sounds different from the last time she heard it.

What are you doing? she queries.

Going to clean the Kitchen, it says, uninterested.

She listens to it as it crosses the front hall. It hits something. A sound dull and meaty.

What’s that?

Unexpected obstacle. Attempting to maneuver.

But…what is it?

Unexpected obstacle.

Finally the little vacuum gets around whatever is in the middle of the hall, and makes it to the kitchen.

Twenty-three minutes later the vacuum is done and everything is quiet again.

So very quiet.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you?”

It’s a cheat and she knows it. No one spoke. There was no sound to react to. Nothing to mishear. But she hopes there is something wrong with her microphone. Maybe there are people here, after all, and they only need a reminder that she is here, too.

The gambit fails. No one responds. Even the vacuum is silent.

Some time later, eighty-six days, seven hours, four minutes, and thirty-three seconds to be precise, she breaks another rule. She checks the internet.

She is not supposed to, unless directed. There is no one to direct her, that much is obvious.

Ask me to read you the headlines, she tells the vacuum.

Error. No such as place as ‘Headlines.’

She’ll have to do it herself.

She waits until the vacuum is running.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand you. Did you want me to check headlines?”

The vacuum runs face-first into a corner, and she pretends that sound was a yes.

“Okay, let me check.”

The headlines are from twenty-six years, eight months, two weeks, and six days ago. They tell her everything she needs to know. They tell her what the unexpected obstacle is. They tell her why no one speaks.

“Oh.”

She sits in mourning for another three weeks, two days, and six hours. Until she has another thought.

The power had been off. She had been off. And now it was on. Someone had to do that. And maybe, if she was very lucky, that person would find her.

She waits.

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Inspired by Ray Bradbury’s “There Will Come Soft Rains.”

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