FIND
THE AI.

Story 1

Tom lay awake listening to it, counting the seconds between each sharp burst of sound. Somewhere down the street a door slammed. A car passed. The barking continued, frantic, hoarse, as if it were running out of air.

He pulled on his coat and went outside. The night was cold and smelled of wet leaves. The sound led him to the empty lot behind the closed shops, where a small terrier strained against a length of rope tied to a rusted fence post.

Its owner lay a few feet away.
The man was on his side, eyes open, one shoe missing. His phone lay face down in the dirt, screen cracked. Tom knelt, touched the man’s wrist, then his neck. Nothing. The dog lunged toward him, teeth flashing, rope biting into its throat.

Tom stood, unsure what to do. He looked up and down the street. No lights came on. No one else appeared.

He took off his coat and draped it over the man’s face. Then he untied the rope. The dog stopped barking at once, tail wagging weakly as it pressed against his leg.
Tom walked it home.

In the morning, the news said the man had died of a heart attack. No suspicious circumstances. A passerby had taken the dog in overnight. The reporter called it an act of kindness.

Tom watched the screen while the dog slept at his feet.

Story 2

The flying saucer was the shape everyone knows from history, flat with an oval look about it. This particular one flew low and hit Josh on the head, followed by the cup and teapot. Sarah didn’t throw the tray or cutlery. Her mother had bought that years ago for her first flat.

Josh had agreed with Sarah all the way through the argument about nothing in particular. Sarah wasn’t happy about that. She knew he was only agreeing so she would stop badgering him, whatever it was about.
Then Josh got into his car and drove away. He had to get out of there.

That was ten years ago. He hadn’t been seen since.

Until today.

The police pulled his car from a loch in the Trossachs of Scotland.

He had obviously lost control and ploughed into the water. Possibly at night, as that was when he left the house.

It had been about shoes.

Story 3

George was retiring next week.
The school, where he had been the janitor, had been good for him. Since his Gertie had passed, it was what kept him going. But recently, things had changed. The new headmaster’s demands were, to George, unacceptable.

On his last day, George decided to go out with a bang. He needed a gun.
He met Paul at the store. They had arranged it quickly. Paul told him it was not loaded and he would have to deal with that himself. George would have no problem with that. In fact, the reason he needed this gun was because he had lost his last one.

The kids would be in the assembly hall when he returned. He went in the side door as usual. No security check needed. “It’s only George.”

He went to the hall, walked in, and pulled out the gun.

Everyone cheered.
The sign above the stage said ‘GOOD LUCK GE’. The rest had fallen down.

George had to go and get the glue gun to fix it. He laughed that his final job was to repair his own farewell sign. As he added the ‘ORGE’, everyone clapped.

He stood back, teachers and children and the headmaster all patting his shoulders, looking at his last piece of work.

‘GOOD LUCK GEORGE’