Perfect Love
A story of love and technology
Andrew was desolate, the spartan angles of his face more pronounced as he confessed, “I’ve broken up with Susie.”
“But I thought she was the ideal mate for you,” I replied, remembering his enthusiastic endorsements the last time we’d conversed.
Just then, the cat danced a figure-eight around my ankles, prompting an instinctual reach into the fridge for the meat paste. “Of course, Kitty, dinner time.”
Andrew, perplexed by my interaction with the feline, remarked, “You talk to your cat as if she comprehends every word.”
“And so she does,” I assured him. “She manipulates me quite effectively.”
“I wish my wife did the same.”
“You crave a perfect wife, not a simple automaton,” I pointed out.
Silence fell as I attended to Kitty’s meal. Her purrs of satisfaction echoed warmly within me.
“She demanded upgrades—more RAM, swifter processors. I explained our financial limitations, the excessive energy that would entail, which we could scarcely afford. Her screams then shattered the calm. I couldn’t bear it,” Andrew confessed, his voice a mix of remorse and frustration.
I pondered his predicament. “But you left her. Perhaps a more prolonged dialogue might have enlightened her to your rationale. After all, she’s merely a machine.”
As Kitty ventured outdoors, I swung the door wide for her.
“It wasn’t the same anymore. Perhaps her cognitive matrix had deteriorated. Admittedly, I hadn’t invested much in our interactions of late.”
Their connection had obviously become frigid.
“I find myself longing for solitude, for genuine interaction, not just mechanical routines. If I am to be with her, I seek mutual engagement, not hurried, soulless exchanges.”
Drawing a long breath, I gazed out into the void.
“Why not grant her the upgrade, secure a more lucrative position, and persevere? Life demands concessions. She alone can fulfill you, being designed as the perfect companion.”
At that moment, Christine entered—a 10174B model, a gift from my parents on my twenty-first—a token of adulthood and responsibility. My mother’s tears had felt as artificial as the occasion.
“Christine, perhaps you could enlighten Adele on how she might better connect with Andrew. They’ve reached a deadlock,” I suggested.
Christine acknowledged with a nod and departed.
“Walter,” Andrew mused, “might we have been better off with organic partners?”
“We’ve tread this ground before, Andrew. Our synthetic spouses are superior,” I reaffirmed, though his discontent was palpable.
Christine reappeared, bearing tea. “I’ve spoken to Adele,” her voice a balm. “She’s adjusted her parameters at the office. She’s feeling more aligned now. She understands.”
Emotion reddened Andrew’s features, and tears followed. As Kitty called to be let in, I obliged.
“Perhaps you’re right. I’ll improve my professional stance, extend my hours, finance her enhancements. Maybe then, her affection will deepen.”
After his departure, I turned to Christine.
“What are your thoughts on organics?” I inquired, sipping my tea.
“Their arithmetic is wanting,” she replied, her hand resting gently on my knee. “Let us ascend and delve deeper into your musings.”
I used ChatGPT to do some slight transformations to my original story. I like the result. I hope you do too.
ChatGPT: In this version, I aimed to blend Frederic Brown's sharp, concise storytelling with Aldous Huxley's reflective and philosophical tone, exploring themes of technology, human interaction, and the search for genuine connection amidst artificiality.
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Here i experiment with creative storytelling and transformations using ChatGPT. It helps me refine the language and style of my story without interfering with the original content and flow.
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