Of Broken Things

Chapter 1 - Scene 1

This is the edited draft Of Broken Things, but it's still very much a work in progress.

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“You have one active reminder - ‘Stop drinking and start living.’ Save, repeat, or mark as complete?”

Aiden winced as the computer’s voice rang like a bell in his throbbing head. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn it spoke so loudly on purpose. Of course, when he had told Mary Ann that their semi-intelligent house-keeping program was more intelligent than advertised, she had just laughed and told him that his professional paranoia had finally gone too far.

Aiden’s eyes were drawn to the holographic picture on the coffee table. Mary Ann smiled back at him, so happy and full of life…

He quickly looked away. Better not go there. He surveyed the battlefield that was his living room instead. It was littered with dirty plates and empty take out boxes. He only had fragmented memories of the month he had spent trying to find a deeper meaning to life at the bottom of a bottle, but from the looks of the place, he must have gone through his entire stash and then some. He hadn’t learned any earth-shattering revelations, just ended up with a wicked hangover.

“Save, repeat, or mark as complete?” the computer insisted just as loudly.

“Mark as complete. And lower the damn volume to five!”

Aiden moaned and clutched his head in with both hands. Yelling at the stupid thing had been a bad idea. Now it felt like a dozen hammers were pounding on his brain. Where the hell was Ricky?

“Computer, date and time?”

“November 1st, 7.45am.” This time the volume was low enough to be bearable.

Aiden sighed and got off the couch. Time to start living indeed.

“Dim the lights, open the windows to air the place out and start the cleaning program.”

The lights that had been shooting daggers of pain into his eyes finally dimmed, and he let out a sigh of relief. Three cleaning robots rolled into the room and began gathering the empty bottles littering the floor.

Aiden moved into the lobby to get out of their way and was surprised to see a large whiskey-smelling stain on the wall across from the door. There were glass shards and a bigger puddle on the floor. He tried to sift through his memories, but he just couldn’t recall why he had thrown a whiskey glass at the wall, and an almost full one at that.

“Computer, clean this mess up too.”

“You have a visitor.”

A screen opened in front of him, transmitting the feed from the front camera. A beat-up white gravicar had landed in his driveway.

“Car belongs to Richard Benson. He is on the “Friends” list. Unlock door?”

“Yes, yes,” Aiden said, “and tidy up two chairs and the coffee table post haste.”

He crossed to the door in three quick strides and opened it just as Ricky was about to knock.

“Took you long enough. I told you 7, and it’s closer to 8 now.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to help you out!”

Ricky pressed a button on his transmitter and transferred the message Aiden had sent him to the floating screen. It read, “My house at 7. Bring coffee and Alka-setzer.”

“Seriously, Aiden, nobody sells those anymore. I went through five drug stores before I found one that still had some in stock. Why not take an Insta-sober shot instead, like everybody else?”