Normally, I’d sleep in all day.

  That’s what I’d been doing, and I had no plans on changing up what I had become used to anytime soon.

  But something was bothering me.

  “Unghh…”

  That’s no good, I really don’t feel like waking up.

  I tried shutting my eyes tight, squeezing as hard as I could but every time I did my mind pushed back against me. I rubbed my face on reflex and my vision grew darker.

  So that’s what was bothering me.

  There was light in the room.

  I threw the covers over my head; it worked for a little bit and I could almost feel myself falling asleep.

  …but then it got hot.

  I laid there like an idiot, eyes wide open. I lowered the covers and glared at the gaps of light that were practically blinding me. Tch, I never opened the blinds for anything and I don’t remember messing with them yesterday.

  There was a back and forth in my head on whether or not I should get up. I spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about something so useless.

  Well.

  It was time to wake up anyways.

  I stood in front of the window and like an unwanted guest sunlight beamed through the cracks to announce its arrival to me.

  Taking a good look, I noticed that some of the vertical slats had slanted in a weird way.

  I tried fiddling with the plates, jiggling them, pulling them.

  When that didn’t work I tugged on the cord back and forth, then I tried twisting and bending the plastic white vinyl over and over again.

  Still broken.

  “They were fine yesterday…”

  Blinds aren’t permanent things, like everything else they have a set lifespan. Designed to work until the day they die and give out, the day when it’s their time.

  Some have lives that span decades and other meager beings like these blinds have lives that span a few short years.

  Years of dedicated service.

  Only to fail out on me during my hour of need, during the time I needed them the most. Today was the day they finally decided to give out.

  Wait…

  Deciding is a rather human aspect isn’t it?

  Objects don’t have wills of their own, I’m certain most would agree with this statement. Even if you were superstitious, you’d probably limit your scope to something more personal. Dolls, stuffed toys, precious mementos; your car, a house, a robot.

  But blinds?

  That sounded a little ridiculous, and yet sometimes it feels like even the most insentient beings have a mind of their own. Items can’t decide for themselves but these damn blinds…!

  I was annoyed, I was really annoyed. It should’ve just stayed as a small little inconvenience. But the whole situation was frustrating enough that I started to fantasize about ripping them out and painting over the whole window black to never have to deal with this again.

  I’d have to settle for closing the curtains this time.

  “Morning already huh?”

  ***

  My life was all about going through the usual motions.

  In the mornings I’d get up, go to the bathroom, relieve myself, undress, shower, get out, brush my teeth, change clothes, eat breakfast, then go to work.

  For the rest of the day I would participate in that universal human pastime and at night I’d repeat my morning routine but in reverse.

  Get home, eat dinner, brush my teeth, relieve myself, undress, shower, get out, change clothes and go to bed.

  It was a rhythm I never strayed from.

  To me, the phrase “taking a day off,” was rather unusual.

  I always had vacation days because I never took time off work unless I was forced to. It’s not because I was a workaholic. (I hated working extra and I never put in overtime unless I had to)

  I never took time off work because I never had a reason to.

  There goes a common saying, “We don’t live to work, we work to live.”

  People don’t want to spend their lives working day in and day out. They put up with the daily grind out of necessity, because they have to.

  It’s an obvious conclusion but it goes beyond that.

  If you absolutely minimized all of your spending, took the cheapest rent, bought the cheapest food, only ever spent money on the absolute bare minimum necessities. You’d find yourself with lots of spare change. With all that money saved up you could quit work for months and treat your unemployment as one long vacation. A long vacation that’s over as soon as you need money again.

  Why does no one do that? (willingly at least)

  Because it’s a miserable way to live, in fact, you couldn’t even call it living.

  Getting by on the bare minimum because you need to is called survival. People aren’t satisfied with survival; they want to improve their situation, their lot in life. They want to live and enjoy living.

  That’s why so many work so hard.

  They work hard so that they can afford to move into better neighborhoods, what’s the point in cheap rent if you live someplace ugly and dangerous? Why do people splurge, often when they can’t afford to, on a delicious, expensive cut of meat or cheese? Why aren’t they satisfied with a cheap and endless diet of rice, chicken and beans day after day?

  Because it is monotonous.

  That’s why people don’t get by on the bare necessities. They have hobbies and interests they want to invest in; friends, family, lovers they want to go out and spend time with, go to restaurants, bars, and parties with.

  I don’t doubt most people are doing it just to distract themselves from the monotony of their own lives, but if I had to figure out the real reason…

  They take part in it because those are exactly the things that can be considered living.

  They work. So they can live.

  I was different.

  I worked to live and lived to work.

  I normally never strayed from my ways, but these past few weeks have been a big exception.

  For once I was glad that I never took off, something had come up and I finally found a reason to use all those saved up days. But I went overboard and when I had taken care of everything, I found myself with a lot of free time.

  It was odd to have so much time for myself that I didn’t know what to do with it. That didn’t last long though, it’s funny how easy it is to get used to change.

  I put on my pajamas and laid down in the living room.

  And that’s all I did.

  For hours and hours.

  I’ve always been a homebody, but even by my standards I haven’t gone out much lately.

  I’m certain that even the most self-avowed recluse would appreciate a change in scenery. No need to deal with other people, all they’d have to do is take a few moments to leave the house, maybe take a walk around the block or go on a solitary hike, something simple.

  But the thought of stepping foot outside my house was enough to make me uncomfortable.

  I don’t think it was the idea of going outside itself that bothered me, rather, it felt like it would be just too much of a bother. What would I do outside anyways?

  If I had to pick between a loud party or a quiet retreat at home, I’d pick home every time. There was nothing special about that, some people preferred being surrounded by noise and others liked the company of silence. I was firmly in that last half.

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Because of that, I’ve been shut inside all week.

  It was comfortable to lounge around and waste away in stillness, I would’ve kept going all day I’m sure, but my stomach had other ideas. The small pangs were enough to motivate me to move.

  It’s not that I was particularly hungry.

  I wanted to do something. It didn’t matter what it was as long as it didn’t take too much thinking.

  And eating is about as mindless an action as it gets.

  Rummaging through the fridge I could only groan as it was practically barren. Nothing but a couple bottles of water and a few half-finished cans of soda. The same went for the emptied-out cupboards.

  “I haven’t stocked anything huh?”

  I was so used to others doing the cooking for me that now that there was no one around I was starting to find myself at a loss.

  Guess I was going to have to leave the house today.

  ***

  Over the past few years, more and more people had been moving into the city. City officials took that as a sign to green light construction, lots and lots of construction. All to make room for the new everyone.

  As more space was made, more people moved. And with more people, money came with. The city started advertising itself as the best place to be, always going on about how it had the best jobs, the best neighborhoods, the best people and things to do.

  All lies. I’ve never seen any of that.

  Maybe it was me who was looking around in the wrong places, but it seemed that no matter how hard I looked I could never find a single redeeming feature about this city.

  It didn’t matter what I thought. The outsiders ate it up, they saw opportunity and they started coming in droves. Now everywhere was crowded and the streets were getting filthier and filthier.

  I grumbled as I started heading towards the strip mall. Malls were the last place I wanted to be.

  They were loud and obnoxious; they had cameras everywhere scanning your face and watching your every step. Loud and annoying holo-ads were placed along the walkways playing something new for each and every different group of people that passed by. All of it personalized.

  In short, walking through a mall was an exhausting chore but if I was going out I might as well stock up on groceries.

  As I walked towards the supermarket I glanced at the stores off to the side.

  It was the usual mix, from specialty stores to cell carriers, fast food and clothing shops. Nameless faces in crowds, bundles of human shapes wearing masks of expression.

  Robots walking side by side next to humans. Humans walking side by side next to robots.

  Nothing at all interesting.

  Then something caught my eye, and I stopped.

  On display behind the laminated shop glass were the latest generation of assistant dolls. This wasn’t a luxury mall so the dolls on offer weren’t anything too fancy, “affordable” as far as robots went.

  They were all in maid outfits and butler suits and it looked a little tacky because it was obvious they cheaped out on the uniforms.

  Assistant dolls lived up to their namesake. They were pleasant, human-looking machines designed to help out at home.

  Cooking, cleaning, companionship if you were desperate enough.

  I say desperate because there was a line specialized for that, ‘Companion Dolls.’ Getting intimate with an assistant doll was… something you did because you couldn’t afford better. Though I’d heard there were some black market afterparts that could make one surprisingly comforting.

  The technology itself was interesting, and I knew a bit about them, but I wasn’t interested in the technology at all.

  Sure, I found the doll designs appealing, pleasing even. But seeing them on sale didn’t suddenly inspire a feeling of, “Wow! I need to get one!” in me. All it brought out was an apathetic—“Huh, wouldn’t that be useful?”

  I took a quick look at the older generation robots passing by me and then another at the new ones behind the glass display.

  They really were looking better and better every year.

  ***

  When I got back home, I slumped onto the sofa and dug my head into my palms.

  The lines were absolutely terrible, what was supposed to be a quick thirty-minute trip turned into a two-hour expedition. And everything was so damn expensive! The only reason I didn’t do an online order was because of the delivery fee but if they were already charging this much what difference would a convenience tax make?

  “Hahhh… should’ve bought something while I was there.”

  My motivation to do anything, much less cook was at an all-time low, but I was stubborn about it. I left the house because I wanted something to eat, so I will make something to eat.

  I rummaged through the store bags. Frozen vegetables, meat, pasta and canned food. Simple ingredients for simple cooking.

  Turning on the stove, I grabbed a medium sized pot and took out some ingredients. I dumped pasta into boiling water, mixed ground beef with salt and pepper then tossed it into the sizzling hot pan of oil.

  It felt like I was doing everything right. I stirred and shook the pan without an ounce of hesitation, I carefully watched the clock to take the pasta out at the right time. Cooking was simple, it was all about following steps A-Z as long as you did you couldn’t go wrong.

  Though I hadn’t cooked for myself in a long time, it made me wonder if my confidence was born from genuine skill or if this was the conviction of a misguided fool who didn’t know any better.

  Once everything was done, I popped open the jar of marinara sauce and poured it all over the noodles. Tossing the ground beef into the pot, I scooped up a portion into one of the colorful China plates left behind by my parents.

  Finally, I sat down and stared at my meal.

  …

  It didn’t look very appetizing.

  I poked at it with a fork. The pasta looked and felt tough, the beef didn’t fare any better with splotches of burnt black crust all over the small chunks. Twirling my fork around the noodles, I made sure to get as much artificial sauce and bits of the overcooked meat into my first mouthful.

  …

  Bland. It was horribly bland.

  The pasta was crunchy and flavorless, the meat barely passable with the burnt edges leaving a bitter after-taste that stayed in my mouth long after I had finished downing it.

  Did I cook the pasta too long or not enough? Maybe the meat needed more spices or maybe…

  The list could go on and on, but it was obvious that while I could cook, I wasn’t any good at it. The food was at least edible and that’s all that mattered to me.

  After washing the plates, I plopped back down on the sofa.

  The sun had already gone down, and the living room was nearly pitch black. I didn’t feel like getting up to turn on a light, so I just stared at the ceiling in total darkness.

  “I’m tired.”

  I don’t know how much time had passed but when I finally decided to check my phone it had gotten pretty late. I didn’t want to move; I wanted to keep lying there but today marked the last of my days off. Tomorrow I’d have to go back to work and start slogging away.

  I was sure I’d be fine by now, but I still wasn’t ready to go back.

  I called them in advance, trying to ask for more days. I tried bringing up my past attendance, I never missed a day in my life surely, they could make an exception just this once for me.

  But no amount of bargaining or near-begging would make them budge.

  My perfect record meant nothing in the end, not that I went out of my way to hold it in the first place. I only hoped that it would at least be good for something.

  I’ve been stuck in my head too long; I need to get ready to sleep.

  Brushing my teeth in front of the bathroom mirror, I couldn’t help but stare at my reflection. Unconsciously my free hand moved up to touch my face. I looked dead tired, exhausted even. My own appearance almost surprised me because I had never seen this look on myself.

  But it was still my face, it was still the same old me. I could still recognize the man in the mirror.

  whirrrrrrrrr

  It was dead quiet except for the sound of the spinning blade fans.

  It’s funny, lots of things were funny to me these days. No matter how much I slept in all day, I’d always wake up heavy-eyed. Yet the moment I actually needed rest my mind was more than happy to keep them wide open.

  I tossed and turned in bed.

  I flipped over my pillow once, twice, a few times, then a dozen times.

  Over and over.

  No amount of fussing could make me fall asleep. It’s like the more I wanted it the further it moved away from me. I stopped trying to sleep and accepted that the only thing I could do was do nothing and stare out into the dark.

  —! What the hell are you doing? Are you fucking retarded?!”

  Crap. I messed up.

  “N-no sir, I just. The equipment it…”

  “Shut it, I don’t want to hear it! For fucks sakes this is the second time you’ve fucked up today. Now I gotta make another write up. Get your shit together man. This is why you aren’t getting anywhere around here.” Almost popping a vein, the foreman finished shouting and stormed off.

  This wasn’t the first time I’d been screamed at on the job.

  I didn’t really mind the verbal abuse; it was something I could handle. What did get on my nerves was the way he went about it. Always rebuking me like I was some kind of child, those were the moments when I had to clench my jaw.

  I flexed my fists, opening and closing them, staring into the large hole I had torn into the wall.

  He did have a point.

  Did I misconfigure my exosuit?

  The status lights were green and the digital screen showed everything was fine.

  Was I just out of it? I did sleep late and I was feeling tired… Maybe I jerked my body a little too hard and the frame over-corrected mistaking it for a swing?

  No, I didn’t believe that. Something must have gone wrong with my suit; it made me uneasy and all I wanted to do was to take it off right then and there, but I still had a whole day’s work left to go.

  I’d have to put up with it for now.

  My body repeated the motions that had been drilled into it for years. Digging, clearing, building, lifting things around, doing as I was told.

  Half a day’s worth of stretched hours passed by me as I labored away until my body felt like lead. I was being forced into overtime around the clock, and it was becoming too much. (they weren’t even paying me for it)

  I wasn’t the only one suffering of course. Some tried speaking up, others reported the problem to the Labor Bureau but both demands were usually met with either silence or a termination letter.

  Maybe I could look for another job, but despite the wayward promises on the city fliers and ads, the labor market wasn’t looking too good in the city. And I was nothing but a menial laborer, I doubt I could find anything better. If anything, I’d probably get something worse.

  When I got back home I could barely move.

  I had to deal with more screaming, more shouting, and every time I did, that just got me into more fuckups which brought on more screaming and shouting. There’s a reason I told them I wasn’t ready to come back in!

  But they didn’t care.

  All that that mattered was following the timeline and making sure the project was on track. It didn’t matter what happened to any of us, we were all easily replaceable.

  I found myself ordering a meal again.

  I thought living on my own wasn’t going to be too hard. It’d be easy to look after myself, “Cleaning & cooking,” none of it would be an issue. If I could handle a real job like hard labor, I could handle something so menial right?

  But after a day like this?

  I’m amazed I even had the energy to get back home at all, would I even be able to get out of bed tomorrow?

  No.

  I could handle it. It didn’t matter. This was only temporary, a quick holdover until things got better.

  ***

  It was always the same thing day after day.

  The same habits, the same problems, the same boredom, the same stress, the same days. Nothing ever changed.

  I’m not sure what I was waiting for.

  Was I expecting something to happen?

  If I never did anything about it, why would I expect the guiding line of my life to suddenly veer off in a different direction? That was nonsense thinking.

  It was a stressful period for me. I tried to hold on I really did, but one little slip up led to another slip up which led to another. It wasn’t long before I slowly stopped taking care of myself.

  I couldn’t stand cooking, all the groceries I carefully picked out always spoiled because I never did anything with them, so I stopped buying them.

  Instead, I started to eat out all the time and whenever that was too much of a bother, I’d pick from one of the dozens of cheap instant meals stocked in the fridge and freezer, and if that was still too much of a pain, I’d heat up some cup noodles or eat straight out of a can.

  My foods habits grew worse, and I don’t think it was a coincidence that I started feeling worse around the same time.

  Work. Go home. Sleep. Work. Go home. Sleep.

  They had started rotating my schedule around, now my weekdays and weekends were blurring together. I didn’t have any friends, not then and not now. I was never any good at making them, but it didn’t bother me at all. I was never interested in them in the first place.

  People like me who have nothing going on in their lives usually try to compensate with something.

  They go after hobbies: books, games, music, media. Anything to distract themselves from the boredom in their lives. I didn’t have anything like that.

  It could be that I was just too tired from work to look for something that fit me. But you usually find hobbies as a kid, right?

  Nothing in life has ever really grabbed at me, if people find hobbies as children and I never found one then maybe I was someone who was never meant to have an interest.

  If someone suddenly forced me to name a hobby right now, no matter what.

  I would probably answer with,

  “Sleep.”