Flash Fiction: A Little June Magic by Val Muller

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is “June” because it’s….well, you get the idea! This week’s work comes to us from Val Muller, author of the kidlit mystery series Corgi Capers. Val is at work illustrating the first three books and editing books 4 and 5.

A Little June Magic

By Val Muller

“Hey Miles, what’s the best day to mow the lawn this weekend?” Jack asked his phone.

Ainsley raised her eyebrow. “Are you serious.” It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation.

Jack looked up and shrugged. “Are you saying you don’t want me to mow the lawn this weekend?”

Ainsley crossed her arms.

“What?” Jack joked. Then he followed Ainsley’s accusing eyeline to his phone. “Oh, this. What? I was asking Miles to help me help you.”

“It’s going to rain tomorrow,” Ainsley said. “So you can mow Sunday. You don’t need AI to tell you when to mow the lawn.”

Jack smirked and pushed a button. “Miles,” his annoying-as-**** AI assistant, started talking:

“Although the expected weekend rain is predicted to happen on Saturday, the densest of clouds are not expected in your area until 3:00 p.m. Eastern time. Therefore, the best time to mow your lawn would be Saturday before 3:00 p.m. Sunday is expected to be warm and sunny, but rain from Saturday is likely to last all evening, creating potentially wet conditions that may result in slipping, injuries, damage to mowing equipment, and undesired tire tracks on the lawn.”

“We’re supposed to meet Beth for ice cream on Saturday,” Ainsley said.

Jack held the phone to his mouth. “Jack, my wife thinks we have plans on Saturday. Do you think it would be safe to mow on Sunday, and if so, can you advise me of the best precautions to take?”

“Sunday’s conditions may be wettest in the morning, following a predicted night of rain. However, if you use caution, check fields for puddles and mud, and clean your equipment after mowing, you may be able to mow on Sunday.”

“Thank you, Miles.”

“You are most welcome, Jack. Please let me know how else I might assist you.”

“You can go away,” Ainsley said.

“He didn’t hear you,” Jack said.

“He?” Ainsley clenched her fists. “It’s not a he, it’s an it. In fact, it’s not even an ‘it.’ It’s not even dignified enough to be given that pronoun, it’s a—” She raised her hand in the air, expecting some kind of revelation, but nothing came. “Like a dash on a paper, a nonverbal utterance, a—”

Jack hit the button. “Miles, come up with a pronoun to use to call AI when we don’t want to assign—” Jack thought for a moment. “I should start by saying this isn’t my idea. I think you deserve to be called ‘he,’ but my wife, she just doesn’t buy into the whole AI thing yet. So this is a thought exercise for her benefit, not mine.”

“What are you saying?” Ainsley asked.

Jack hit the button to stop recording. “You should be careful what you say to AI. If you’re mean to them, they may give you worse answers.”

“They? You’re literally proving my point.”

“What point?”

Ainsley groaned. “Don’t make me go through it all again. You know, the Terminator. Robot overlords. The apocalypse. All that stuff. You’re helping the enemy here. I’m telling you, just mow on Sunday.”

Jack didn’t answer. He was typing away.

“Miles suggested using the letter X, perhaps. Or one of these characters—” He showed Ainsley his phone.

“I don’t need a separate AI pronoun. I’m just not going to acknowledge it.”

“You just said it,” Jack reminded her.

“Why don’t you put the phone down and enjoy being outdoors? It’s June, finally. It’s warm, there’s birds everywhere. I remember this book I read as a kid. It was about going barefoot in June. It was so magical, with the grass and the moon. Owls. Just all the things about nature. It made the summer seem magical.”

Jack pushed a button. “Miles, write me a short book about going barefoot in June. Make sure it includes owls, grass, and the moon, please. And make it extra human. It’s for my wife.”

*

Ainsley rocked gently in the hammock, the weight of Jack’s phone holding down the napkins on the side table that held her iced tea. She turned the page of her paperback and looked up as Jack rolled by on the mower. Then she adjusted her sunglasses, stretched her toes, and returned to her novel as the drone of the mower grew quieter and quieter. Turned out AI got it wrong. If you were brazen enough, you could mow on Friday.

The Spot Writers:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/