The robot insisted in seeing Virginia’s childhood bedroom. She feinted, dodged, parried. Once, with her nerves already frayed from a separate incident, when the robot asked, she lashed out. Wielding her words as a saber. Screaming she didn’t know why it was so god damned interested in her lousy old room.

“I want to understand,” it said.

They took the train. She spent the whole trip with an old paperback held like a buckler before her face.

“This is it,” she said pointing at the closed door. The robot stepped forward  and waited for Virginia to nod before going in.

Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent‘s #writephoto challenge.

One thought on “Froissement

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