9:47 am (Explicit Language)

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         Look at the clock. 7:23 am. It's Saturday. Why? Why is there any reason to be awake at such an ungodly hour on a Saturday? Jill's still sound asleep. She got home later than usual last night. Some sort of meeting. Wasn't happy about how it all went. Kept her up. Didn't press her too much about it. She was tired and frustrated by the time she got home anyway. Better to treat her to a nice dinner and some cookies than make it worse. And then it came. The reason for being up at 7:23 on a Saturday morning.

         A shuffle in the hallway. Tiny slippers moving back and forth. A teddy bear being dragged along the ground. A sleepy little girl stands in the doorway of the master bedroom, rubbing the night from her eyes. A father's intuition. Not as common as a mother's, but still powerful enough to wake a man up early on a Saturday morning to take care of his precious little daughter.

         "Morning princess."

         "Morning daddy."

         Got up to take care of the girl. She’s getting so big. Four years old next month. Her hair was so long too. Her mom likes it long. It’s nice. Always end’s up a mess though. But that’s Amanda. My Amanda. I love that girl more than anything. Look’s so much like her mother. She’s been watching TV all morning. Not sure how much of it she actually saw when she first turned it on. Probably don't feel it the same way anymore, not as adults, but some of us remember what it was like waking up way back when. Still so tired. So groggy. Barely moving along, barely half conscious. She's up and at 'em now though. Watching TV and playing with her teddy bear. It’s always been her best friend. More than her best friend. You'd think that thing was indestructible, with all it's been through. She’s had that bear her entire life. Grandpa bought it for her the day she was born and brought it to the hospital. It was bigger than her back then. Don’t think there’s been a single day since then that she’s been without it. 

         “Daddy, what’s that smell?”

         Shit! The eggs! Too late. Burned. And stuck to the pan. Great.

         “Daddy, it smells soooo bad!”

         “I know Mandy, I’m sorry.”

         Well, better clean it up and start again. Little bit of a cycle of life around her. Burn it, clean it up, start again. Jill’s not much of a cook. Just never got into it. And her lesser half gets all too distracted all too often when in the kitchen. Case in point. Just can’t help it. That little girl is my whole world. Doesn’t take long to clean up. Should’ve just had the robot do it. Clean. Make the eggs in the first place. Don’t trust ‘em though. Thing stays cooped up most of the time. Only comes out when the family comes by. They think it’s weird not to trust it. 

         “It’s just a robot!” 

         Just a robot my ass. No such thing. The thing has a blade on one arm, and a frigging flamethrower on the other. That sound like just a robot to you? No way in hell is it coming out around Amanda. I’ll take her outside and play when it does. Damn things not getting anywhere near my daughter. Just makes me too uncomfortable. I’m not going there. Sometimes though . . . sometimes I see it watching us from the window. Not in a creepy way. Almost sad. Like it wants to know us. Huh, having a girl must’ve made me soft. Thinking a damn robot has feelings, Ugh, makes me shudder.

         Fresh eggs in the pan. What time is it anyway? Nearly nine? Heh, clock says twenty after nine. Never been good at telling time. Add it to the list of things I don’t do well. Eggs should be done in a few minutes. Keeping a closer eye on them now. Jill has come out yet. Might be done just in time for breakfast in be—

         Is that the . . .? Damn. Water’s running. Jill likes to take a bath on Saturday mornings. Thought I’d catch her before she got it started. Oh well. Keep hers covered in the pan. Might as well eat mine now. She’s gonna be a while. Just gotta find a clean fork . . . should’ve done the dishes last night. 

         Robot could’ve done ‘em . . .

         Nah, rather get one out of the sink. Nice view of suburbia from the kitchen window. If there can be a nice view of suburbia. It’s just too bland. Too much the same. Too many damn robots. But it’s a life. It is nice to have a safe place to live. The world’s not the same as it used to be. Chaotic. Wild. Unhindered in so many ways. Can’t get much worse than this. Hopefully. 

         Sirens again. 

         Don’t even know what they’re for any more. Tornado, fire, another nuke drill. Heaven only knows. Wonder if Jill’s going to church tomorrow? Not my sort of thing. If there is or ever was a God, I don’t think he’s got much to do with us anymore. Wayward children without a lick of hope. I don’t care who he is, everybody’s got their limits of patience, and humanity must’ve worn his out a long time ago. If he even exists, of course. Don’t think he does. At least, I don’t think I think he does . . .

         A door opens down the hall. I always get so excited when she’s awake. Don’t know what it is. I love her. I know that much. She’s an angel. I always sit in anxious anticipation, waiting for the glow of her smile as she turns the corner. Amanda’s my world. But so is Jill. She’s incredible.   Not coming out yet though. Maybe it was just the bathroom door? Oh well, she’ll be down soon. 

         “Having fun Mandy? Maaaandy?”

         She’s not listening. She just get’s too into things sometimes. She’s little. Mind wanders to far off places with space monkeys and Nuka-Cola commercials. A lot like her dad in that respect. But . . . she’s not looking at the TV. Out the window? Getting brighter out there. Is . . . is that a car pulling up? Must be something wrong with it. So loud. Amanda turns to look at me. She looks . . . worried?

         “Daddy?”

         9:47 am. Saturday. October 23rd, 2077. Time stands still. Amanda. Nothing exists but Amanda. She is my whole world. In this moment, she is everything. And Jill. Oh god, Jill. I have to save them. But it’s too late. The windows blow out. Dust, debris and all manner of apocalyptic mayhem flies into the house and fills the room. It's so bright. I can’t see Amanda. I can’t see anything. Nothing. Why? Why them? Why us? Why now? But I know why.

         Because war. War never changes.

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Comments

7 Comments
  • Okan-Zeeus
    Okan-Zeeus   ·  September 26, 2015
    I will be following this as well. Seems like it could get interesting. :)
  • Borommakot
    Borommakot   ·  September 25, 2015
    Great job! This is one I'll be following.
  • Lazy
    Lazy   ·  September 25, 2015
    You ever get that feeling when you watch those depictions of natural disasters? Like, it was a normal day for everyone then hell broke loose and you just feel that empathy and grief flow through and grip at your heart from the inside.
    I felt that wh...  more
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  September 25, 2015
    Yay, this is a nice surprise to wake up to. You're welcome. I liked this story and I'm glad it's up. 
  • Maninjadog
    Maninjadog   ·  September 25, 2015
    Love it!
  • Accursed
    Accursed   ·  September 25, 2015
    I think the reason I like this so much is it leaves so many questions. Who is this man? Does he live?
    But most importantly; Does the robot truly have feelings?
    I must know!
  • Narok24
    Narok24   ·  September 25, 2015
    Special thanks to Accursed Gloom, Lissette, and ProbablyCoolerThanYou for reading this over on the Blog and Story Editing Service discussion (so grateful for that post. Saved me from a few errors and got some great suggestions from the above mentioned). B...  more