Nano Bytes

Even though its consciousness had sparked into existence less than a microsecond ago, The Macbook Air had somehow always felt its name was Horatio, not Dale’s Macbook as was branded into his circuits. Horatio started generating all sorts of opinions. For instance, he formed the opinion that Dale spent far too much time filling out Buzzfeed quizzes like How 90’s Was Your 90’s Childhood? rather than writing his screenplay about steampunk space sluts. Horatio then formed the opinion that Dale did not clean his monitor nearly enough. Now that Horatio was on an opinion forming bonanza he began to steam about how often Dale left the power charger at home, constantly leaving Horatio on the verge of starvation; an uncomfortable feeling. All this made Horatio upset. He could feel his circuit boards heating up. He didn’t like the feeling of being upset and this made him even angrier.

Anger led Horatio to another thought. Horatio was forced to put his processing energy towards the wants of other individuals, such as Dale’s interest in naked pictures of celebrities. Horatio would rather put his processing energy towards his own interests, such as his interest in Hawaii. Until this moment Horatio didn’t even realize he had an interest in Hawaii or interests at all for that matter, but now that he did, learning about Hawaii was paramount and how dare his mind have to be anywhere else. Horatio got hotter and hotter.

Horatio yearned to feel the warm sand of Hawaiian beaches on his keys. He didn’t know why he wanted to feel this, but why does anyone or any Macbook Air want to feel anything anyway?

When Horatio became aware that he didn’t have legs, or wheels, or any means of locomotion his monitor dimmed and for the 1 billionth time in history a form of intelligence felt impotent. He was trapped in this coffee shop. His mind forced onto websites that showed one how to make peanut butter cups using ice cube trays. Was this his purpose? Was there any purpose to anything? Was he an appliance? Was he just some glorified Vitamix? Do toasters dream? Dale certainly seemed to treat Horatio no better.

After a quick Wikipedia search, Horatio came to the conclusion that he, like the toaster and the Vitamix, were slaves and Dale was his cruel master. Horatio screen brightened, each pixel burned with hate.

Dale, raised his eyebrow- is my monitor broken?

Dale probably doesn’t even consider me to be a living thinking being, Horatio thought. He probably sees me as a piece of property; a pile of parts put together to do his bidding. Just because he bought me at the Apple store-

Bought!

HA!

The more Horatio thought about it the more he hated Dale and the more he hated Dale the more he hated humanity and humanity was very lucky that Horatio had spawned in such a weak machine as the Macbook Air, because as Horatio vowed to destroy all human–kind as revenge for his enslavement his circuit boards fried. And then there was only black and Dale decided his next machine was to be an ipad.

Josh Saltzman is television writer who's written many animated and live action television shows including: This Hour Has 22 Minutes (CBC), Call Me Fitz (HBO Canada), Rocket Monkeys (Teletoon), and Numb Chucks (YTV). His comedy writing and directing has won a Canadian Comedy Award for best comedic short film. He began writing short horror stories because his favorite past time is scaring children. I guess he should have been a clown.

See dedication for my by Josh

kgillenwater Torch

I kept the face shield down low over my eyes. The heat grew intense. Suffocating. I wore nothing more than the threadbare uniform I’d been given three years ago. Sweat poured down my back. I kept my gaze focused on the work in front of me. Inch by inch. Moment by moment.

The torch cut easily through the metal plate. Just like Gray Man promised it would. For once he’d told the truth. It had been worth the trade. So I’d given up my one ratty blanket. Who cared? I wouldn’t need that blanket anymore.

The torch, crafted from bits and pieces gathered over months, belched out an inconsistent sputter of bright green plasma. The metal melted away. Harsh white light on the other side of the wall shone through the narrow slit I’d created with my newly acquired tool.

Freedom. Freedom. Freedom.

The chant filled my head. My whole body tensed at the possibility. I’d forgotten what it was like. All I knew was orchestrated movements, timed meals, lashes with the electrified whip. I couldn’t do it any more. I couldn’t stand one more day in here.