'It is lucky we have some things in common!' I replied and so began another argument.
She walked out dumbfounded. I went to look for the fishing net downstairs, where we caste out discarded things to purgatory. As soon as it was unearthed I raced back up the stairs and plucked out the phone from the toilet bowl and gave it wipe. I tested the voice recognition and the various apps, no harm done, it still worked.
The plague of the self conscious zombie has already begun. If we aren't careful, soon they will be able to see us. The plot has now unfolded. The phone incident never happened, it was the workings of my imagination. Why would I concoct such an absurd story anyway? This is the reality. I'd love do my art full time, but I have to get a job. Everything wrong about being human is spewed across a canvas. The nervous system is controlled by the dictatorship of the brush. Let it slip and everything goes down the shoot, apart from my football team Bolton, they're solid.
Human beings are housed in mental hospitals and rehabilitated to become zombies funded by a new corporate technological revolution. There hasn't been a philosophical novel since Sartre and he shot himself, or did he in this reality? Eventually we will forget technology existed and start feeding on flesh and only flesh. I think that's a bit extreme.
'Shake yourself out of these ridiculous flights of fancy' said Jynx
But it could be true this could be the future.
'Does your phone still work?' she enquired
'Yes' I sheepishly answered.
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