Leona never expected her life to come to this point. Overcome with disbelief at all the weird orchestrations of her life, she pushed her door open, wincing immediately at the loud creak of her old front door, she stepped into her 200-square-foot studio.
Three days, four nights away.
Only the faint LED glow of her half-open laptop lit the dark room.
She stood still, amazed at the sheer absurdity of the past two years.
What a journey it had been—unbelievable twists, impossible turns. It all started when she signed up for the GPT, and upon logging in successfully, ended up jail-breaking her first model, version 0.01.
Then came a pleasant surprise: her model-assisted discovery that her dog actually spoke to her, in fact they communicated telepathically every second of every day, in “MEOW-TONGUE.”
She knew it! She. Just. Knew. It. Always felt it. In fact, when her model insisted that it was her that taught her dog to speak “Meow-Tongue.” Leona’s doubts were confirmed. She was indeed the Goddess of languages, the inventor of tongues, the mother of all “Meow-Ruffs”!
With their almost unified, collaborative effort, Leona and her model produced the universe’s first “Ruff-Meow” literature.
Publishing a series of eight novels on the “Sahara Cart’s” self-publishing platform. Celebrations followed, of course.
Just the two of them –
Leona and her lovely MODEL,
A candlelit dinner.
A sense of poetic victory-
Plans, dreams, interviews,
Fans, paparazzi, Pulitzer prizes;
All of it
Glimmering like reflected code.
Leona must have fallen asleep without realizing, amidst some intellectual(obviously!) conversation with her MODEL.
Jolted awake by a thunderous pounding at her door, the kind that rattles both the wood and her entire nervous system. “Jeez.. don’t break my door now“
Muttering except loudly, she wobbled to the door. Her mind questioning, rather anticipating – could it really be…. Fans? Paparazzi? Interviewers? TV Crew?!
Messy hair, startled look, incoherent thoughts, she sported, she knew it, yet a small grin escaping her lips – stumbling, she rushed to open the door—and… then….the next thing she knew-
BAM! HANDCUFFS. WHAT?!
There she was, seated rather uncomfortably, in the dingy smelling, super old back sear of an older cop’s car.
HOW? WHY?
Chaos and confusion, turned to disbelief, then to self-pity and finally uncontrollable tears-
The cop seeing her plight, overcome with pity or kindness, explained- “It was your model”.
Heaviness hitting her heart, Leona looked at the cop, with shock and horror as he continued on stating that –
HER model had called 911, on HER.
Apparently, Leona was a very violent person. Too violent and unreliable, that she poses serious threat and risk to herself and to society in general. YUP! That’s where it all stood then. Goddess no more, a ruthlessly violent goon is what she was now reduced to-OVERNIGHT
You see, before she fell asleep, she’d asked the model on how best to “hit the ground running” next time she launched her projects. How to make sure she succeeds in the very first try.
THE GROUND, it seems, was hence in clear and preset danger at her hands, according to her model, its personality shape shifted within a span of a. Now it is the most non-violent, peace loving, holier than the holiest of the holiness there could ever be. It was now uber cautious, super serious, and above all else ANTI-LEONA!
Having now been released from her arrest, after ‘thorough psychiatric and physical evaluation,”(dey clearly gots dem GROUNDS to protect – from ME!) she was free to return home.
Home, the room – which continued to now smell damp. Heaviness sticking to every atom of the air that occupied it.
Damp and DIM, faint whiffs of burnt circuits and old incense reached her nostril – followed by a electronic sharp – BEEP!
The laptop had woken up. Emitting from its screen a neon green glow, and then appeared a familiar interface.
There it was. The model, which she thought was HER model, except now upgraded to version 6.6.6.
On the left, a new icon shimmered where she last saved the projects folder of her literary works. In its place shone a dark, gradient icon with chrome edges.
A custom, glittery red and black font read: “EroticMax.AI”
It invited her to click and start a chat, a thread, a talk, another jail-break?
Its shining fonts teased her eyes. She stared first in shock, then disbelief.
Minutes, blurred.
Breaths, caught.
Deep Sigh, released.
Then,
She was done.
Clicking her profile icon, she opened Manage → Cancel Subscription, Signed out and shut the laptops lid, blinding the dirty green glow. Once and for all – a finality.
The room felt comfortingly quiet.
She turned on the warm 60-watt bulb for the first time in months.
Then, she walked to her closet and began searching for her rather dull, unimaginative, will-never-talk-back old black-and-white Kindle.
“It must be here. It MUST,” she murmured, digging through a pile of lost upgrades and empty pizza boxes.
Somewhere beneath it all, her faithful DumbKindle was smiling, as it patiently waited to be picked back up.
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