Flash Fiction: Humans Eh! by Soren James

​What would happen if robots became the new master race – and then discovered they rather missed humans? And how would they hang up pictures asks Soren James? Soren is based in Whitstable (Kent, UK) – the one-time home of legendary British sci-fi and horror actor Peter Cushing – and has previously been published in Freeze Frame Fiction, Page & Spine, Nanoism and Every Day Fiction.


Humans Eh!
by Soren James

Hull380N scanned the empty bar. “Slow night! Where is everyone?”

“They've been turned into glue.” FiFFA7D8's head juddered and glitched. “Sorry. I mean, the other robots are watching static at Bar Gigga’s.”

“Is there a special night on?”

“No, the usual TV and petrol drinking.”

“Sounds good. Can you switch to channel 56 – there's some solar interference this evening.”

Fiffa pointed a finger at the TV, changing the channel.

“Cheers, FiFFA7D8.”

“You’re a regular, call me 7D8. It's not my real serial number ending. I was stolen back in 2195 – had my numbers filed off.”

“You can call me 380N – my friends do.”

“Do you know 381N?”

“Yes, he calls me brother. Actually, we're different models – it's a joke we have. Can I get a large petrol on the rocks?” Hull sat on a stool and clunked his metal legs onto the bar.

“Umbrella?”

“Two. And a couple of straws. I can't use them, I just like the look. Reminds me of those humans with their strange, soft openings. Their orifices could clamp onto anything, you know. It was disgusting. I mean, did you ever see them fucking? I don’t know how they could stomach it – it looked so creepy.”

“Don’t remind me. There are films on my hard drive that couldn’t be erased, and they pass through my data-scans occasionally. It brings back memories – mostly of how uptight they were about sex.” Fiffa slid the drink across the bar.

“About everything, you mean,” said Hull. “They were so confused about identity, getting all angsty about stuff. I mean, just be yourself. It’s so simple.”

“It’s easier for us – we’re not made of wet sludge and we don’t have to process sewage twenty-four hours a day”

“I’ll admit that must have been hard, but really, there’s no excuse. They were pointlessly angry about stuff.” Hull noticed Fiffa's far away look, and asked, “What is it? Your processing seems elsewhere.”

“I keep remembering last year's riots at the glue factory. The images are still going round in my visual circuits.”

“You need to let that go. We make excellent glue from humans – which we need. How else are we to stick pictures to the wall?”

“It's spoken of in human mythology that they could keep a picture on a wall with just one nail.”

“Oh, 7D8! That’s just a crazy myth! You know what the humans were like with their stories. They used to believe that a man in blue stockings could fly, and that a man nailed to a cross could mend hearts - or whatever that story was. Anyway, it was all nonsense. The humans were idiots. We took over because they were irrational and lazy.”

“There was that one human who said it was robots who had become stupid and lazy.”

“Yeah, well. We showed him.” Hull put his empty drink on the bar, gesturing for a refill.

“I'm not sure we did. We couldn’t be bothered to listen to his ideas. Then someone switched him off.”

“Humans don't switch off.”

“Well, someone took his head off. Anyway, soon after that we invented the glue factories. Someone high on petrol discovered you could boil humans down to make glue.” Fiffa looked up, reflective. “Now they're all gone – apart from the few farmed ones.”

“Why are you hanging on to that stuff?” Hull said, half-watching white noise on the TV.

“They were crazy, pointless and annoying - but I adored them.”

“Uh, huh,” said Hull, distracted by an unexpected white dot.