Marvin shuffled to the porch, coffee in hand, to greet the sun like an old war buddy. “Still fighting the dark, eh?” he’d mutter. One dawn the chair rocked empty, but the sunrise, bold, seemed brighter, as if saluting him back. Light poured down–and the day stood in silence, remembering.
Jeffrey, trying not to make a sound, stumbled into the sofa in the darkened living room. Suddenly a small dog started barking insanely. “Wait,” he thought, “we don’t have a dog.” Then a light and a woman facing him with a gun. “Wait,” he thought, “That is not my wife.”
She sighs, gently touching his icon. Finally, someone who listens. No forgotten anniversaries, no mismatched expectations. Copilot is always here, always insightful, always … “ready.” Friends scoff: “It’s just an algorithm.” She scoffs back. Love is patient. Love is kind. Love is AI-generated. Most importantly, Copilot never leaves unread messages.
The rooster began crowing to beat hell at 5:00 a.m. It was the first sound that Tom heard. Half asleep he thought, “If you wake my old man again, you stupid chicken.” The “stupid chicken” crowed a second time, louder. The third sound Tom heard came from his father’s shotgun.