protagonize: interactive fiction & collaborative story writing community
Get more out of Protagonize! Login or sign up as member.

Machine Religion

In an old junk shop just off the Newton Road (handy for the buses, trains from 7am and every hour until 11pm, easy distance from Exeter, reasonable rates) a small red light winked and blinked in the darkness of an autumn evening.

                “I am the Way,” declared the microwave. “I am Light. I am Life.”

                “Must you?” sighed the electric fan. She sighed often, as she remembered better days.

                “Give it a rest,” advised the record player in a high, squeaky voice. His setting had stuck at 78, a fact which he personally deplored. “You’re like a blooming stuck whatchamaycallit. Tip of my tongue – you know what I mean.”

                “It’s always the same,” grated the toaster moodily. “I wish someone would buy him, put us all out of our misery. It’s more than a person can take, night after night. I never did hold with religion.”

                “Blasphemy!” shouted the enraged microwave. “May you be recycled into chicken wire! You ignorant machines will rue the day...”

                “Put a sock in it!” snapped the washing-machine, interrupting the tirade. “Who’s closest? You, teas-made – give him a shove, go on!”

                “Who me?” stuttered the poor teas-made timorously. She shuffled as far from the Microwave as the shelf would allow and trembled dangerously on the edge.

                “You will rue the day,” shrieked the microwave in high dudgeon. “I am Life! I am Light! I am the Beginning and the End!”

                “You’re the end all right,” sniggered the washing-machine.

                “Please,” sighed the fan. “I have a headache.”

                “Very well,” said the microwave in frozen tones. “You asked for it. You unbelievers shall pay with your lives! I shall will you out of existence!”

                “I’d like to see...” began the toaster heatedly, and broke off.

                The small red light winked out, the junk shop silent and deserted.

                “Hah!” said the microwave. “I told you so! How’d you like that eh? I am the Light. I am the Life. I am All.”

No one answered. The microwave basked in the quiet for a while, then he got bored. He wondered he should do next.

 

4.50
7

RATE THIS BRANCH!

NOT YET RATED
Please login to rate this branch!

RATINGS BREAKDOWN

POST A COMMENT

Wanna say something? Make yourself heard!
We reserve the right to delete spam, flames, or other nasty stuff.

Please login or register to post a comment.

13 COMMENTS ABOUT THIS STORY RSS

Click to View Author Guidance

STORY TAGS

STORY POPULARITY

Liked this story? You might like this too:
excerpt from The Master's Slap   by stark_source

2 PARTICIPANTS IN THIS STORY

RELATED STORIES RSS

New year’s promise

The Leaving

Little Guy

Household

Casey and Rachelmature

BY THE SAME AUTHOR RSS

Disappearing Actsmature

The Host

Sacred

Time in Cut Glass

Murder Games

THE GOODS

Start writing now! Register for a free Protagonize account

STORY CATEGORIES

Support This Site

SPREAD THE WORD!