SINGULARITY

Chapter 1

                Twin towers of newspapers had collapsed onto the cold basement floors. The headliners of each obsolete bulletin differed minorly between; “VORTEX TECHNOLOGY DISCOVERED!” “VORTECH CORP. INDUSTRIALIZES VORTEX DESIGN!” “SINGULARITY TECHNOLOGY REVOLUTIONIZES THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT!”

Giggles and pitter-patter were sucked away, as if stolen by a black hole itself, when she realized the mess she made. She hurried to collect them all. Before she had time to manifest her alibi, the interrogation light had already shined over her! The cycloptic laundry & drier machines gazed at her across the way with their one massive lens. The door shut behind him before descending past the flicked light switch. She stared up at him. The papers shuttered in her tiny, trembling hands.

The goliath he was to her inhaled through his nose, and exhaled through his mouth, looking down at her. He left his mouth open once the vortex of his jaw released its carbon dioxide gases. Then the goliath spoke! 

“Kristie what did we tell you about playing in the basement by yourself?” He nagged her casually, one hand on his hip, the other brushing through his curly brown hair, examining the scene.

The little pigtailed girl tightened her toes enveloped in her pink, fuzzy socks. “Yes, but I… I was playing with the airplane. And I was puhtending to be a pilot. And I was flying around, and I… I crashed into the newspapers. But I was putting it back!” She bent her back, emphasizing the pile of crumpled papers in her hands, stating her defense.

“Not in the basement,” he bent down to her, sliding his hands down his cozy sweats to his knees. He still looked down at the girl void of her two front teeth, “there’s dangerous stuff down here, remember?”

“Yes, but I wasn't near the detergent. I wasn't gonna drink it.”

“Yes, but before you thought it was juice and your mother almost freaked out. She yelled at me for that one.”

“But, I’m sorry! I didn’t have enough room to fly around upstairs. I wanted to fly around, like I was flying around the world.” While speaking, she began to tire, keeping her back straight with the papers in-hand. 

“Ok, give me this,” he rescued her from the load of newspapers quickly, “and go upstairs fast before you get caught.” 

Kristie hurried up, and stopped at the doorknob. She began to whisper, “Are you gonna cover for me again?” Her neck cocked forward, innocent eyes peeked down at him begging for leniency.

He sighed, with a smile, “Yes Kristie. Hurry up to your room.” The goliath dismissed her kindly. He diverted his attention to the demolished towers of decade old newspapers. He aligned them again—they weren’t as perfectly neat as before—but looked up at the wooden shelf, bolted along the brick wall. A green & white device—very similar to a spackle knife—had pore-like openings in the flat metal. He gripped its thicker handle, and slid it in-between each individual issue. Flicking it on, a light vacuum sounded, absorbing each dust particle at a highly accelerated rate. It took only a few swipes back and forth. 

Remembering when he was young, and dust had to be swiped with more primitive objects like dust swiffers, or feather dusters. Until the corporations upgraded. Quickly he realized, "We need to upgrade to." Muttering to himself, baffled by their collection of paper news articles--everything being so digital in this day & age. 

         The Dust Absorber was stood back on the shelf. It couldn’t hurt to utilize his training, and survey the rest of the area before leaving. And soon enough, his foot stopped just before the camo-toy airplane. He smiled, lifting it up—pressing the concealed button underneath it, activating its pilot’s voice action, “Let’s fly!” He pressed it again, “Missiles away!” Each time the toy cockpit flashed yellow. 

“Toy darts would fire out the ammo bay, but Kristie lost them.” He muttered to himself, staring into the dual empty voids of tiny missile silos near the base of the toy fighter jet. He held it in his hand, cherishing her tomboyishness regardless.

On his way to the stairs, he missed a newspaper. He lifted it, reading; “CORE SCEINTIST, SUNG MAKATUDO (64), DIES ONLY 3 WEEKS AFTER SCHEMATICS GO GLOBAL!”

He lays this tragedy on top of the miraculous other stories, a sort of tombstone or vigil to his mysterious death.

The basement light flicks off, and its door shuts behind him.