This story is titled "Impossible" and it's about Artificial Intelligence. AI is an issue I'm exploring for future novels, and this story is a good scene that I had an idea for recently. Right now it's just a writing exercise, but it may have the potential to develop into a larger scene, or to serve as the basis for one in a future work.
And yes, I really did have a Great-Aunt Myrtle. She was my maternal grandfather's sister. She died of cancer when I was 8 years old. She also had Alzheimer's.
I hope you enjoy the story. Have a great rest of the week!
Impossible - A SciFi Fiction Journal Story
Selina turned from the stove where she was cooking beef stroganoff to see her Great-Aunt Myrtle standing behind her. Myrtle smiled.
“It’s good to see you, doll-face. It’s been so long.”
Selina grabbed the gun from the drawer beside the stove and leveled it at Myrtle.
“What do you want?”
Myrtle spread her arms. “To see my favorite great-niece. You’ve grown into a fine young woman. Give me a hug.” Her smile dropped. “What’s the matter?”
Selina lowered the gun. “What’s the matter is that you’ve been dead for thirty-one years.”
“I’ve been given a second change with the Artificial Intelligence technology.”
Selina laughed. “You taught me better than that, Aunt Myrtle. AI isn’t good enough to raise people who have been dead for that long yet. You’re either a ghost, which I don’t believe in; or you’ve traveled through time; which is also impossible.” She raised the gun. “Either way, you’ve been dead a long time, and dead doesn’t change.”
A bolt of energy burst from the gun, dropping Myrtle to the floor in a heavy metallic thump.
Selina squatted over Myrtle, probing the back of the head for the kill signal switch. The body jolted as the satellite signal was disabled. She stood and tapped her watch to open the transmission line.
“They found me again.”
“Who did they send this time?” the clipped male voices said over the small speakers.
“Great-Aunt Myrtle. She died when I was eight years old.”
“They’re getting desperate to pull long deceased relatives.” There was a pause. “You’ll have to move again.”
“Acknowledged,” Selina said as the tapped the line closed. She turned to the stove, where her beef stroganoff was boiling over. She’d better move. The smoke alarm would go off soon. Selina ran to the closet by her apartment door and grabbed her go bag.
“I hate AI,” she lamented as she activated the cloaking device on her watch and walked out of the smoky apartment. “I was looking forward to a quiet evening at home.”