Day 316 - Come to Life

 COME TO LIFE

Prompt - Come to life : Imagine ordinary objects have come to life.  Write about what they do and say

Why was he being nudged in the back?  Who by?  What time was it?  Why wouldn't they - he, she, it? - let him sleep on?  He tired opening his eyes.  He shut them again, quickly.  It had looked as if the bedside lamp was leaning in towards him.  What had he been drinking last night?

But he hadn't had anything.  He thought this must be a dream of some kind, the scary ones you have in that half awake and half asleep twilight state  of not quite imminent consciousness.  But the steady poke in the back felt real enough.  He tried opening one eye.  The lamp was still there.

"Well?" it said.

It did, didn't it?  The lamp was asking him... something.  But it's a lamp.  "Are you getting up?"  It had a light, metallic voice, like a young girl filtered through a steel tube.  "It's time.  You forgot to set an alarm, so we thought we'd best help out.  You've got that interview today."

That was true.  he did have an interview, for a job he really, really wanted.  How could he have forgotten to set the alarm?  He grabbed his phone, checked the time.  Seven forty.  Time he should be getting up, getting ready.  The place was on the other side of the city so he'd have to leave soon after nine to make it.  So the voice (the lamp?) was right.  He suddenly found himself awake, aware, almost alert.  The prodding in his back changed into a constant, insistent push.

"OK, OK, I'm getting up!"  And he did.  The lamp leant back into it's usual position as he rose.  Looking back he could see nothing in the bed.  Who or what had been shoving him?

"Thank you bed, I think we can take it from here." said the lamp.  There was a brief flex of acknowledgement form the mattress.  

"What's going on here? What's happening to me?  You can't speak."  His voice sounded shrill, panicky.  Not what he needed today.

"Stay cool," said the lamp, "if you go to the kitchen the coffee machine will explain.  As if this was a perfectly reasonable explanation to give.

He shuffled into the bathroom, did what needed to be done, splashed some water in his face, tried to reason it out.  Couldn't.  

He moved on to the kitchen.  As he passed the sofa he could have sworn it smiled at him.  Was he going crazy?  The stress of wanting this job getting to him?  On a work surface sat a mug, with steam rising.  In it was coffee.  Had Gill turned up without telling him?  But she was down south, wasn't she?  

"Good morning Gavin."  The voice was soft, deep, African.  He looked around, heard a rubberised movement, saw the coffee machine come forward.  "We know this is a surprise to you.  Shock even.  But we're here to help."

"We?  Help?  Why?  How?"  Reduced to monosyllables.

"We, the collective of your household, saw how nervous you looked last night, and the lamp spotted that you'd not set your phone to waken you.  We know how important today is for you.  As it is for all of us, because if you don't get this job then some of us may have to go, won't we?"

Gavin stared at the machine.  It was right.  He didn't know how it could be right, but he knew it was.  This couldn't get any weirder, could it?  "Why don't you drink your coffee and I can tell you the plan we've worked out?"  Why not?  So he did.  It was exactly as he liked it.

The coffee machine told him the plan, and who (who?) was in on it.  After his coffee he should go to the bathroom.  Bath would already have filled itself, ready for him.  The shower head had been briefed to keep him on target for time, so no need to worry about checking.  When he got into the bedroom he'd find his suit. shirt, tie all laid out ready, courtesy of old mirror cabinet he had in the corner.  Get back to the kitchen and breakfast would be done.  The machine would supervise of course, but most of the work would be done by toaster, cooker and the tools on the rack.  He'd eat up.  His shined shoes would be ready.  Together they'd make sure he was out on time.

And so they did.  Gavin, to his own surprise, went along with it.  Because he could.  Having everything done for him, exactly as he would have liked, relaxed him, let him concentrate on what he'd be saying later.  He went out with more confidence than he'd had in weeks.

When he got back home he was excited.  It had gone well, he knew it had, and the things the interviewers said at the end made him certain he was in with a good chance.  He rushed into the kitchen to tell all, and was already babbling his gratitude and enthusiasm before he got through the door.  But there was no reply.  He was talking to a coffee machine.