The shadows of my failures grow longer each day, dimming the once bright flame of my writing passion. Horror stories, my former refuge, now yield little but rejection letters and dwindling sales. Doubt gnaws at my creativity, turning what was once a fertile imagination into a barren landscape. The struggle to breathe life into my words feels like an uphill battle against a relentless tide of disappointment.
Yet here I am. Thinking, sitting, and waiting for the inevitable fall from grace. As nowadays people drawn more to the story of bittersweet romance of life. My time is over. As the inflation of life continue to plunder, they now looking for quick comfort from life, so the horror genre is not what they look for anymore.
It's time for a change, and I am not ready for it. Not that I have any problem with it, but I just can't fathom my head over the zeitgeist for bittersweet romance. Do a lot of people feel lonely nowadays, or do they crave a better love life?
I've already read a couple of them. Some are good, but others are too nonsensical for me to finish. Love, at its core, is a feeling of being comfortable with each other amid their flaws. Many writers don't grasp this, which is why they confuse love with lust. They lean more towards lust because the rest of the story focuses on materialistic desires.
But who am I to judge? I'm just a lonely writer who has never experienced love.
The ones that are good have been able to touch on subjects that are personal, sometimes too personal, it moves me to tears. I realize that I am crying more at my own misery than at the story itself. I quickly learned that these 'good' writers are not just writing romance, but about personal struggles. If they can do it while hiding under the guise of romance, so can I.
I start by staring at a blank paper. A horrific sight for amateur and burnt-out writer. At the beginning of someone's life, we always start with a blank canvas. You begin by picking up the brush and slowly adding a little strokes of life. But you've become uninspired and exhausted. So, you wait a bit, hoping for that divine intervention. The abstract image you painted yesterday starts to take shape. The image becomes clearer and clearer, and voila! An image is formed.
Sometimes, the image you create does not match up to what you expect from the beginning. The image is the result of the process of growth and experience. The final product is a mix of fantasy and reality, reflecting what you desire and revealing aspects of yourself. That is my writing process.
For months, I tried to maintain my perseverance and consistency. I thought, sat, and waited for my divine intervention, but it hasn't come yet. I kept waiting and waiting until I decided I had had enough.
Something was clearly not working. As I delved deep into what was wrong, the more frustrated I became with myself. I knew why it wasn't working—I had shut myself in this house for a months without seeing a single soul. That's it! Inspiration always comes from outside, from places bustling with life. But will
he
let me do it? Ah, fuck it, I'm going outside!.
As I approached the front door, someone blocked it. I knew he would do this. It was a doppelganger, a barrier, a reflection of myself presented in a dark, shadowy figure with a disoriented face obscured by misty dark smoke and speaking in a hoarse voice. I called him Mr. Double.
"Why do you want to go out?" asked Mr. Double.
"Shut up! I'm just trying to do my work," I replied.
"But you don't need to go out to do it."
"Shut up! You don't understand."
"It's you who don't understand. You must think again. Always thinking. That's your job."
"I already tried, but it hasn't come yet."
"What, divine intervention? A load of bullshit, if I say so. Just a preface to hide your pretentiousness."
"If you don't want to help, then fuck off."
He laughed. "My lad, how ironic of you to think that I can help. Didn't you forget who I am? But that's alright, since I'm in a good mood today, let me give you some advice. Look at the TV."
I approached the TV and picked up the remote from the sofa in front of it. I turned it on, and an advertisement began to broadcast. Celius Robotics is launching their brand new maid android. There's a fairly calming, almost seductive voice of a female speaking in the ad.
"Introducing the Celius Robotics Maid Android, your reliable personal assistant. With advanced capabilities, our maid android is designed to handle everyday tasks effortlessly. From household chores to personal assistance, our android is the epitome of reliability and efficiency. We are determined to take care of your physical and emotional needs without judgment or repercussions. It's like having a friend who's always there for you.
So say goodbye to a lonely, stressful life and hello to laughter-filled days. Get your Maid Android today and start living the easy life!" The ad ends with a calming synth music. Top of Form
This sounds unique. I immediately grab my tablet and go to their website. I can order a custom model, but it's pricier, or choose from their range of established models with varying functions and personalities.
Even so, the price might be somewhat of a problem. But I can use the last bit of money from the sales I got. It's a gamble, but worth a try. I order a model named Amanda.
As I finished browsing, I could hear Mr. Double satisfied laugh from the corner. "There you go, my lad. No need to get out of the house, right? Once a loser, always a loser. HEHEHEHE..."
I threw the remote at him, but it missed and hit the wall, breaking the remote. Why the fuck does he have to become such a nuisance lately?
After waiting for three days, it finally arrived. I took a peek from the front window and saw a cargo truck stopped in front of my house. The door at the back of the compartment was open, and two personnel quickly ran to the back. The android slowly walked outside the truck and was then guided into my house by two personnel from Celius. They knocked at the door.
I opened the door, and there stood a short man in glasses with a clean cut hair wearing a black suit and a red tie, representing himself as the spokesperson. He then went inside the house to double-check my identity. After that, he finally introduced me to the android.
Model Amanda: She is a Caucasian, long-haired brunette with striking blue eyes and a curvy metallic chrome body that covered in a skin that looked like it made out of latex.
I kept looking at her with wide, almost childlike eyes. Perfect!
The spokesperson conducted a series of tests with her, including audio, sensory, cognitive, personality, and physical checks. After they were done, Amanda finally greeted me.
"Hello, Master. My name is Amanda, your personal maid assistant. I'm always at your disposal. I can be whatever you want me to be. Just say the word, Master, and I will obey." She said in a calming robotic voice.
"Quite magnificent, isn't it?" said the excited spokesperson.
Absolutely remarkable," I replied, still processing the surreal moment of having a humanoid robot standing in my living room. "Amanda, can you make coffee?"
"Of course, Master," she responded with a nod. "How would you like it?"
"Just a regular black coffee, the brewing machine is on the kitchen" I said, amazed by the ease with which she acknowledged and responded to my request.
As Amanda went to the kitchen to prepare the coffee, the spokesperson turned to me with a smile.
