This week's writing prompt from Writer's Digest:
You are standing at the altar waiting to marry the person of your
dreams. The preacher says, “Should anyone here present know of any
reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak
now or forever hold your peace.” You smile at your soon-to-be spouse,
ready to get on with the vows. Suddenly—just like the movies—the chapel
doors burst open. “I object!” You turn to see who dared to interrupt
your day. It’s your ex. Finish the scene.
I wound up whipping out this story in my usual fast and loose manner.
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Oh God, why now? Of all the people, why Jay? I tremble in rage as the arrogant little sh*t walks down the aisle, smiling smugly like he just won the lottery. What bothers me the most is his self-righteousness, which I know is just a mask for his true impulses. I know he just wants to cause a ruckus, like a child with a temper tantrum, because I chose Gary over him and he never really got over it. It takes all my willpower to stop myself from strangling him with my veil.
The entire chapel gawks at Jay as he strolls down the aisle. I see my mother face-palming and father muttering some expletive. Murmurs and gasps fill the entire chamber — everybody wakes up to a sudden and unexpected twist. Shame none of them know Jay like I do.
Gary looks Jay up and down, calmly and without any change in expression. I always admired him for his patience — maybe this could be the ultimate test after all. Maybe now I’ll see if I chose my groom wisely when faced with my ex.
Jay announces, “Gwen, you can’t marry this man. He’s not even a man!”
The murmurs intensify as everybody’s imaginations take this new information and runs with it. Annoyed, I cross my arms. I know this is just a tactic for Jay to shake everything up. Everything has to be so melodramatic with him, it still sickens me.
I respond to Jay, “Well, I’ll find out tonight, thank you very much.”
“That’s not what I mean. This man is not human — he’s an android!”
“Wow, really?” This is seriously the stupidest thing I ever heard Jay say. Then again, I wouldn’t say that if I didn’t know for a fact how shoddy his detective skills actually are. You’d think a private eye like Jay would have those skills, but Jay is living proof that standards in the field are shockingly low. I refrain from yelling out my frustration and let the man delivery his flimsy evidence.
Jay says, “Gary Stalls is a false identity, given to him by an underground advocate group for runaway droids. This unit has been on the run for years. He’s drifted from state-to-state as an unskilled worker. He’s been paid under the table so often, he’s remained off-the-grid. But now that he’s been in this community for so long, he’s started to draw attention. That’s how I found out about him.”
“So?” I ask. “None of that explains how he’s a machine.”
“True, but the thing that really tipped me off was his spending habits. I followed Gary for a week, never saw him eat a thing. But he did buy up a ton of car parts. Computer parts, like memory, cables, and thermal paste. Why would one man need all that, unless he needs it for his own body?”
“Gary loves working with hardware. I’ve seen him work.”
Gary calmly says, “I don’t mean to question your methods, but your investigation is inherently biased. I don’t think your findings are conclusive. You just want to find a way to separate us. I find it sad that you’d resort to slander to ruin our love.”
I feel warm and proud of Gary. The feeling is short-lived when I see Jay pull something out of his pocket — a glass vial filled with green liquid. Jay says, “I’ve never been more conclusive in my life, and I’m certain that this will melt the bio-silicon mask you wear and show everybody what you really are.”
I say, “Jay, stop this. You’re about to throw acid into a man’s face! Do you even realize what you’re doing?”
People in the pews hold up their phones — I hope somebody is calling the police. Knowing my family, they’re all probably posting on Instagram already.
“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Jay says, to my disgust.
He tosses the vial and lets the acid fly into Gary’s face. My hand snaps out on reflex, as if I could catch the liquid and stop it. I know it would burn my own skin, but I wanted to protect Gary. Unfortunately, it’s all out of my reach — the acid flies in front of my fingers and it lands on Gary’s head.
When it hits, Gary throws his arms up and covers his face. He doesn’t scream, but everybody else does. Hell, I scream, and I feel appalled. My husband might not have a face when he pulls his arms away. What if the acid burns through everything and kills him?
Just as Jay is yanked off his feet by my overzealous cousins, Gary lowers his arms. The room is instantly silent, as everybody stops to gawk at him. A pile of melted skin dribbles down his suit, revealing a shiny chrome skull underneath.
Holy sh*t, Gary was a robot this whole time and I never even suspected it. It takes me by surprise like it does everyone else. Deep down, I feel a sense of betrayal bubbling up. Why didn’t he tell me? Didn’t he trust me?
But when I see the angry scowls of everyone else in the chapel, I see the answer already. How could Gary trust me, when everybody’s first reaction to an android is to run him out of town? I’ve seen the severed android heads lined up on the edges of Peabody’s land. The news always shows clips of angry mobs beating down robots with clubs and rods, until their bodies break and leak oil. I never gave it any thought until now, because I never saw the machines for what they were — vessels of consciousness, no different than a human body. For the first time, I had to ask why do people hate the machines?
I can’t even imagine what Gary must have felt. Some would say he doesn’t feel a thing, but I know what can’t be true. He’s expressed his feelings to me repeatedly — beautiful thoughts on love and life. We wouldn’t be in the chapel if it wasn’t for our shared feelings. He must have felt fear his whole life, living like a rat being chased by hordes of cats. I know him better than any of these cats, and I know he’s not a heartless machine deserving of punishment. He deserves love. My love.
I look at the minister, who just shrugs sheepishly. It hits me — he can’t wed us anymore. The state won’t recognize a marriage between me and Gary, because of what he is. As to what the Church thinks, who the hell even knows? Nothing in the Bible condones the holy union of woman and robot. I can picture all my family and neighbors banding together and chanting the same old words we already know — marriage is between a man and a woman.
But I see Gary as a man. Even as Jay struts proudly in front of everyone else and starts riling them up, I make up my mind. I grab Gary’s hand, and we run out the chapel. I fell in love with his consciousness, not his body. I will fight for it if I have to.
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I wound up enjoying this prompt more than I thought I would — this is a story that could be expanded into a full-blown novel if I wanted to. If I did, I'd likely change up the last few paragraphs and put those details somewhere else (preferably shown instead of told). As it is, they were worldbuilding points I shoehorned into the prompt to make the themes stand out — there are better, more transparent ways to do that in a larger piece of work.
I also realize this story could also work if Gary was an alien in
disguise. If I go that route, lots of things would have to change (my
biggest fear then would be it might wind up too similar to Heinlein's Stranger in a Strange Land, or the movie Starman). As it is, I'll probably stick with the android angle and wind up incorporating this as a subplot into a larger manuscript I'm planning (which happens to be about robot civil rights).
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