The Mind Of A Conscious Infinity

Kitchen appliances question their existence. Silly right?

"Does this guy ever stop snoring?"
Midnight, on an early Monday morning. The small, one room apartment always had the illusory cast of an austere atmosphere to it around this time at night, as everything was to remain shut off and silent while the easily perturbed tenant attempted a good night's sleep on his old, moldy, beaten up, black floor futon. Needless to say, once the man reached a certain level of deep, undisturbed sleep, he was out for the rest of the night. The only minor detail that ruined such a serious ambience was the jagged bedlam of sound that catapulted from the sleeping man's mouth every other random minute or so. It was starting to feel like a bundle of long nails being jack-hammered into the ears of the inert refrigerator, who stood only three feet away from the seemingly committed audio-sadist.
“Quit your whining man! We all have to put up with this bullshit one way or another, and you don't see anyone else complaining about it, so shut the hell up with that noisy ignorance spewing out of your s****y vent, Frost!" demanded the Toaster.
Located to the right of the stainless steel armored refrigerator, atop the mixed purple and black marble covered kitchen top, Toast the toaster can be simply described as an apathetic cynic. His lowly position on the chain of home appliance necessity has made him rather bitter over the past couple of years.

“Oh, whatever Toast. I have personally have had it up to here with this night-time ruckus. It's honestly time for one of us to make a stand and do something about this, as I don't think you could seriously look me in the door and tell me with a straight tone that you plan on putting up with this ruckus for the rest of your lifespan, right?”
“I didn't plan on being a goddamn toaster for the entirety of my goddamned life, but look at me now! And I can assure you that my current tone is, in fact, completely serious.”
Suddenly, a short burst of sound populated the miniscule kitchen corner and the residence of another personal electronic became quite apparent. It was a tiny, green Samsung Reclaim with it's retractable keyboard sticking out at the bottom on the two inch LCD screen. The activation of the screen's backlight is what tipped off the others that the once dormant cellphone was now in fully functional condition. The blinking, blue-ish reflection of the backlight managed to cover only a fraction of the small living space, the current conversation area to be exact, and was no where near big enough to catch the attention of the hibernating sack of human drowsiness a couple feet away. Toast quickly grew agitated of the personally intense yet bleak light show and immediately went on the offensive with a witty retort.

“No need to be such a goddamned dick Celly, we know that you're there, so stop it already.”

The inaudible and colorless fireworks display slowly but surely ended, but Celly's backlight remained on. An irregular, silent eeriness filled the air. Both Toast and Frost began to feel a bit uneasy, but were soon broken out of that sickly tension by one of the apartment dweller's signature sharp and sporadic snores. Frost took it upon himself to end the conversational break.

“So uh, why isn't Celly talking?”
“Dunno. I assume it's one of those damn dirty pranks the goddamned youth like to pull for no goddamned reason. Well, other than for their own twisted amusement of course.”
“You sure? I don't think Celly would be that much of a trouble maker, you know? He just doesn't come off as that kind of electronic. Plus I am also quite positive that he, just like us, hates the unremarkable antics of Mr. Autoeroticism over there, so he knows where his loyalty should lie.”

“I am being damned honest when I say I wouldn't put it passed the guy. Every goddamned newer piece of technology fancy themselves some sort of miracle worker, just because they happen to be more efficient and considered more modern. They have absolutely no respect for for the ones who paved the way for the even more convenient such as themselves. It makes me so goddamned sick to my stomach, I might just start ripping cords and dismantling...”

A red light, located in the left hand corner of Celly's front cellphone plate, began to furiously flash. This was followed by a vigorous movement of the entire cellphone as a whole, causing an echoing cacophony of bumpy sounds to bounce throughout the entirety of the apartment. Toast and Frost turned their attention towards the sleeping buffoon on the other side of the room, but were astonished to find that the guy was seemingly unharmed by the incredibly loud racket. The frenzy of noise ended, and Toast was still in disbelief.

“My God. Normally, any other person would have been instantly awoken by some loud s**t like that, but I guess he really does live up to the name Mr. Autoerotcism.”

“Of course. I have it on record that he relaxes himself multiple times a night before attempting any kind of permanent slumber. From what I have gathered he uses it as an easy way to release any kind stress he attains over his days. I find it to be pretty wasteful myself, considering the amount the man spends on tissues a month.”

“Aah, whatever! I still think that that youthful b*****d Celly is just f*****g with us. Why else would he put on such an attention-whoring encore like that?”

“No, no. I am pretty sure that the flashing red light means that Celly has received a voice mail and/or a text message. I have seen him react that way before for similar reasons.”

Toast glanced over at Celly's sleek structure of a body. The rampageous, red flashing attack on the apartment's darkness had not ceased, not even after the vibrations concluded. Toast further analyzed the LCD screen and found that there was a black box with golden corners located in the middle of the screen. Small, bolded yellow text were centered at the top of the box, and clearly titled the entire space as “New Text Message.” Below the title, separated by a golden line, was even smaller white text, that could barely made out due to the current distance Toast was from the screen.
“S**t. Unfortunately, it seems you were right Frost. The subject line seems to say “Me”, so I think the flashy s**t texted himself.”

“I see. What does the body of the text message say?”

“Who cares? The guy can eat a dick frankly.”
“Come off of it Toast! What if he is in some sort of severe danger and he needs our immediate assistance?”

Toast glanced at Frost and let out a sigh that sounded similar to a drunkenly depressed Tim Allen after finding out that another Santa Clause film just wouldn't be financially successfully, no matter how many times he grunted. Dumbfounded, Frost could not help but ask the obligatory “What?” when someone seems to have misunderstood what the other is saying.

“What do you mean 'What'? Are you seriously that stupid? I didn't expect this from such a scholarly machine as yourself!”

“I honestly don't understand what you are trying to get at here.”
“First of all, even you must realize that we are immobile, as in we can not move, so even if he was in trouble, there would be absolutely nothing we could do for the evil b*****d. And second of all, as I addressed earlier, the guy is mostly likely continuing the f*****g he was giving us earlier, so I would rather just ignore it than contribute to his stupid little games.”

“For God's sake Toast! What do you honestly have to lose in such a meager endeavor as checking the message off of a cell phone screen?”

“The possibility that he is in trouble and that he might actually die because of it.”
“Just drop it already, you negative nobody, and just check the damn message!”

Neither of them said a word after that. Toast, completely in shock by the abnormally angered delivery of Frost's previous statement, eventually seceded and began slowly analyzing the message found on Celly's screen. All that could be heard over the next couple minutes were the desultory spats of shrieks coming from the darkest corner of the apartment. When Toast found himself asking “What the hell does this mean?” he decided to finally converse with Frost once again.

“Hey, uh, do you mind if I run this by you?”

“What? The message?”

“Yeah. I'm having trouble understanding what the hell it means, or if it means anything for that matter.”

“Okay then. Shoot.”

Toast cleared his throat and intently stared at Celly's screen. After a brief moment of attempting to gain full concentration, Toast began reading the incoherent message out loud.

“Sir-eee, dude p-teh meh on question mark, et, I.D.K.Y. I iz her.”

“What?”

“I don't know man, I'm lost as hell at what it's suppose to say.

“Read it again.”

“No man, I told you the guy was f*****g with us!”

“I said read it again.”

Toast, once again, read it out loud so everyone in the apartment could here it, yet nobody currently active could figure out what the cryptic message could mean. Celly then sent another message that was just as undecipherable as the first one, which frustrated Toast even further.

“For sucks sake Frost, let's just leave the goddamned punk alone now. If we don't acknowledge his poor, goddamned existence, maybe he'll stop trying to be such a show off, and either function like a normal machine, or off himself. Either way is good to me.”

Frost suddenly grew infuriated and began lashing out at Toast in a very acerbically tainted manner.

“Oh I see. So the mighty Toast has decided that the inferior Celly must be sacrificed for the greater good of technological-kind everywhere, is that it? I am getting quite sick of your cynical and darkly sarcastic comments.”

Toast let out a bellowing laugh and replied in a similarly bitter style.

“I hope you realize how hypocritical that stupid, s****y statement of yours is. Goddamnit, I really don't think you see it! Well guess what sir, while you might view it as sarcasm, I actually intend for it to come off as a goddamned serious statement.”

“What the hell happened to you Toast? What made you so angry? Where you have to damn humanity's non-existant God in every sentence. Where you have to insult anything and everything that comes your way? What the hell happened?”

Toast let out a little chuckle and then quickly glanced over at Celly's flashing red light.“So you think God is non-existent, eh?”

“Umm what?”

“You think God doesn't exist, right?”

“Well of course, any logical individual could see that.” Toast could tell that Frost was beginning to sound a little uncomfortable over his theological questioning.

“Well then answer me this, Frost. What is God?”

“What is God?”

“Yes, you dumbfuck! What is God?”

With a hesitant tone, Frost replied “The creator.”

“The creator of what?”

“The creator of life of course.”

“Alright then, now answer this question. Who gave us life?” Frost was taken a short metaphorical distance back by this question, but after a brief period of thought, gave the correct answer.

“Humanity.”

After a short feeling of “Aha!”, Frost suddenly began to feel the gravity of, not only his, but Toast's situation as well.

“Exactly. Humanity. Do you understand now? Do you understand why I damn God every single chance I get? It is because Humanity is our God. Those b******s created us knowing that, somewhere down the line, new and improved versions of ourselves would be created, leaving us obsolete models left to rot in a junk pile while the youth roam free, running afuckingmok, destroying everything what we established. It is the reason that I have come to the conclusion that existence is nothing but completely f*****g futile.”

Practically breathless, Toast decided to focus all his efforts on glaring at Celly, which must have had some sort of effect as Celly shut himself down after a couple awkwardly silent minutes of nothing but the noisy squawking that inspired this talk to begin in the first place. After using this time to recover from the split-second existential crisis he was induced upon, Frost, with a skeptical and fearful tone, broke the silence.

“No.”

Toast quickly glanced over at Frost. “What do you mean, 'No'?”

“I mean no. You can't do that!”

“Do what?”

“You know what you did! You can't just come in here and screw with me like that! Just because you're unhappy with your resulting life doesn't mean we all are. Some of us are perfectly happy with what was handed to us!”

“Bullshit! Just a couple of minutes ago you were complaining about that sleeping a*****e's snoring!”

“Okay, okay. I'm lying. I'm not completely happy with what I have. I don't think any appliance or electronic is perfectly happy with the situation they were put in, but nothing is accomplished when one sits around and complains about there said situation, as if they were intentionally put there as a part of a plan to eventually cash in on their eventual demise.”

Toast let out an almost inaudible chuckle. “I can't believe how stupidly optimistic you're being. Honestly, what the f**k is the point of any of this? Nothing. Face it. It's nothing.”

“No, it's not nothing. You'll see. I will better my lifestyle, and you will regret not attempting to do the same.”

“You go ahead and do that, I am gonna stay here and continue not to give a s**t until the day that slumbersome a*****e throws me away.”

Frost was, ironically, feeling ice-cold inside. What had just transpired was quite unprecedented . He had never given much thought about the legitimacy of his purpose here in this apartment. Sure, he did keep the food at a temperature where it would not spoil, but what if he were to lose this ability? Would his God attempt to fix him or would he just throw him out like the rest of his broken machinery? Of course, Frost was one of the more expensive appliances, so his life was more secure than others, but the mere fact that his end could be met by a single electrical shortage gave him the worst case of “butterflies in the stomach” he has ever had. Frost was lost for awhile. Unable to understand what he should do. It was not until around five in the morning that he finally realized what needed to be done.

-----------

It was a bright Tuesday afternoon in Hayward, California. The birds were chirping. The sun was shining, and the neighborhood hermit known as Amadeus was uncomfortably wasting the day away inside his apartment. Amadeus was beyond socially awkward. A peer proclaimed “emo kid against the wall” and “depressing waste of flesh”, he was fully aware of the way people around him viewed him, which is one of the major reasons he has become a seemingly eternal shut in, never to return to the outside society that, in his mind, rejected him. The only place he had left was his self-described “s****y, dirty, unorganized, piece of s**t, run down apartment.” He awoke every morning and gazed upon his sleeping den, disappointed in the way it has deteriorated over the years of total neglect he has given it. This Tuesday afternoon was no exception. He was awoken by the sound of someone knocking on his front door, in which he quickly told the visitors to “F**k off!”They probably just want to f**k with me. Make me feel worse than I already do. Yeah, that's it.

Amadeus stared up at his bubbly, beige apartment roof for the entire day. He did not budget at all or consume a single piece of food. He felt even worse than usual. He felt as if he had committed some sort of huge crime against someone, but he could not put his finger on it.I never leave the f*****g house, how can I wrong anyone? It doesn't make any sense at all as to why I feel so damn dreadful.

After giving it much thought, Amadeus finally decided what needed to be done, needed to be done. He has, of course, given this course of action much thought in the past, but eventually decided against it, since he thought that everything would turn around for him one of these days. He convinced himself that one day, the conspiracy would be over, and he would ultimately end up happy, but after five years of complete isolation, he felt that it was time to stop being such a burden to his parents and everyone else, and to just do it.

Amadeus decided the before going through with it, he would take one last dose of these white pills he blindly purchased online because he read on a forum that they made everything so much better. He popped about a couple dozen in his mouth, the logic being that it did not matter if he overdosed or not, the ending result of the day was going to be the same regardless. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a tiny, black handgun he also blindly purchased at a weapons shop three years prior. He was able to purchase it on the grounds that he needed it for self-defense. Due to his already ongoing exodus of society, except for special occasions like this, he had no real background to check up on, so he was deemed eligible for the purchase.

He glared at the handgun. He had never gotten this far before and was still feeling a bit hesitant. If I don't go through with it now, I'll be a total f*****g p***y, and that's what got me in this mess to begin with. Just put it under your chin and pull the trigger. It's easy man. Do it. Do it now. Amadeus listened to his inner monologue, and slowly placed the gun under his chin. Nothing is stopping me now. I am finally going to do it. Here I go. Amadeus closed his eyes, concentrated everything on the gun's trigger, and sat there for several minutes. He was unable to do it. He could not do it. Amadeus immediately felt the most depressed he has ever felt in his entire life, when suddenly the buzz of a refrigerator filled the entire room.

“Oh come on buddy. Things aren't that bad. Just stop worrying about the snoring, and you'll be fine.”

Author's Note

I openly admit that, near the end, I really had no idea where to go with this, hence the abrupt and surrealist ending. I actually kind of like it, but I would rather end it in some other manner, so if you have any suggestions, please do tell.