The Slough

            “Hey Deitrich,” said his sister’s unprofessional voice over the speakers.  There was a pause, as usual, for Deitrich to reply.  He did so out of habit.

            “Hey Sqiddles.”  Sometimes even Deitrich had trouble remembering where all the nicknames he had for his sister had come from.

 “Washed behind your ears recently?”

“Nope.  Not today sis, not yesterday, not in the last year--.”  The ending of Deitrich’s comment was cut off by the crisp voice of his sister’s recording.

“Anyhow, I really need you to send me that document I gave you a long time ago.  Remember that day?  It was raining.”  She paused for him to remember.

It didn’t rain very often.

“Real rain—not the spittle you always get.”

He flung his memory back through many dull routine-filled days, past many jugs of milk and boring television shows interrupted by just-as-boring commercials.  Until he had it.  Quite a few years ago, on a rainy day, when there was actually a tiny bit of thunder and lightning—or maybe it was just a large construction sight and a halogen light on the blink—and his sister had given him a document.

“Yeah, I remember, Pippy,” he muttered.

“Well, I need it again now.  So if you could fax it to my office—or you know what, why don’t you bring it to the building: you know, our favorite hangout.”

She was so specific, why didn’t she just name things?  Oh, right… she probably thought her call was bugged so she was talking in code.  He had to think again to remember what their favorite hangout was.  After a moment, he said, “Got it.”

“Thanks bro.  You’re a pal!  In an hour.”

“Yeah, an hour.”

The message ended.

“Deitrich,” said the slow, soft voice of the machine, “would you like me to delete that message or move it to your saved folders, to the file labeled ‘from my messed up sister’?”

“The latter—um, no.  Changed my mind.  Delete it.”

“As you wish. You are, after all, the supreme being.”

Deitrich had to grin when it said that.  He remembered the night he had programmed it to call him that.  That had been a really long, boring night.  He remembered wondering if the woman whose voice had been used was as sexy as she sounded.  It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered that.  Sometimes, he imagined her standing in the doorway with a small, tantalizing smile on her brown lips.  She was foreign, with long, straight dark hair and olive skin.  And she was lovely.  Oh was she lovely.

Deitrich suddenly felt thirsty.  He grabbed a glass and made for the sink in the kitchen part of the main living area.  He debated for a moment between water and juice, and decided on juice.  He turned on the tap.  At first his glass filled with a clear red liquid, then it quickly turned orange.  Someone had finally gotten around to changing the juice.  Deitrich was tiered of cranberry and hoped it was orange juice, like it looked to be.

The End

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