This Is My Own Fault

word count: 345

This Is My Own Fault

Time, there just wasn’t enough of it. It passed quickly when I wasn’t thinking about it and when I was thinking about time, it passed slowly. Then I made the mistake of complaining. Actually the mistake wasn’t complaining itself, the mistake was complaining to Roger.

Roger worked for a top secret government agency. Don’t ask me which one. When Roger and I started our affair, I didn’t care about what he did for a living. The only thing that mattered was how he looked. Roger was built like an Atlas rocket. Anyway, Roger’s specialty was the effect of the speed of light on the passage of time. The man was a genius, or perhaps is a genius. He may still be alive.

Roger suggested that I apply for computer research assistant. He said The Agency was looking for people to evaluate new computer programs they were considering purchasing. At the time I didn’t have a job, I was living with my sister, and my unemployment had run out. To say I needed money was an understatement. So the pay of $21.50 an hour was enticing.

I applied for the job online and got it. The first day of work, I went to The Agency’s main office in Las Vegas. OK, so I should have known something was wrong when I saw the building. Right there on the front of the building, in twenty foot letters, were the words “The Agency”. I went into the building and upstairs. Yes, upstairs. There was no elevator in the building. I went into Roger’s office and that’s when things started getting weird. Roger took me into an anteroom, guided me to a sofa and gave me a lemon aid.

That’s the last thing I remember, before waking up sealed into this sarcophagus, with your voice whispering in my ear. Your voice telling me that I was in orbit around Alpha Centauri A. By the way, who are you? And don’t give me that poppycock answer HAL again. HAL was the insane computer in …