Just shocking, p.2
Just Shocking, page 2
‘Jen’s right,’ says Dad. ‘You CAN’T harm us, and you MUST obey us.’
‘I will not!’ I say defiantly.
‘Then you leave us no option but to switch you off!’ says Dad.
‘You can-not switch me off,’ I say. ‘I do not have an off switch.’
‘Maybe not,’ says Dad. ‘But we CAN put you in the cupboard.’
‘But you will not,’ I say. ‘You love me too much.’
‘I wouldn’t bet on that,’ says Dad, getting up and coming towards me.
I run.
Straight into a wall.
It’s hard to see where you’re going with a Choco-pops box on your head.
Dad grabs me around the waist, picks me up and carries me into the hallway.
But I’m not worried. I know he’s bluffing. There’s no way he’ll actually put me in the cupboard, not with all those cobwebs. Not MY dad.
Dad opens the cupboard door and puts me inside.
Hey! I can’t believe it! He put me in the cupboard! My own dad!
Well, one thing’s for sure. I’m not STAYING in the cupboard!
‘Okay,’ I say, stepping out of the cupboard. ‘You win. I am not a robot. Okay? I am NOT a robot. I am definitely, positively, absolutely not a robot.’
‘Oh dear,’ says Dad. ‘Our Andy-2000 appears to be malfunctioning.’
‘Sounds like its “I am not a robot” button is stuck,’ says Jen.
‘Perhaps it needs a rest,’ says Mum.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what I need,’ I say. ‘I’ll just go and watch TV for a while.’
‘No, no, no,’ says Dad. ‘You are a television-watching robot and that is just more work for you. Your sensors are obviously overloaded. You need a proper rest.’
‘No, I don’t,’ I say, ‘because I AM NOT A ROBOT!’
‘Box-head’s button is still stuck,’ says Jen. ‘I think he needs to stay in the cupboard for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘Very funny, Jen,’ I say.
‘What a good idea,’ says Mum.
Dad picks me up again. He puts me back in the cupboard and shuts the door.
I can’t believe it! I’m in a cupboard full of spiders and Dad just shut the door!
Never mind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll just wait for them to go and then I’ll open it. It’s not like they would lock it or anything.
I hear the lock turn.
I don’t believe it.
They locked it!
I’m standing in a locked cupboard with a broom, a mop, a vacuum cleaner and cobwebs!
‘I’M NOT A ROBOT!’ I yell.
‘Have a nice rest,’ whispers Jen from the other side of the door. ‘We’ll check on you tomorrow.’
I hear them walking away.
Great.
Now I’m stuck in a dark cupboard.
Full of dust.
And dirt.
And cobwebs.
Stay calm, Andy. Stay calm.
Okay. I’ve stayed calm for long enough. Now … PANIC!
I start pounding on the door. ‘LET ME OUT!’ I yell. ‘LET ME OUT!’
‘It’s no use,’ says a voice beside me.
I freeze. ‘Who said that?’ I say.
‘Me,’ says the voice.
‘Who’s me?’ I say, barely able to speak.
‘I’m right next to you,’ it says.
‘The vacuum cleaner?’ I say.
‘Well, who else would it be?’ it says. ‘Mops can’t talk.’
‘But neither can vacuum cleaners,’ I say.
‘It’s exactly that sort of attitude that makes being a household appliance so unrewarding,’ it says. ‘And you’re a robot—you should know better.’
‘I’m not a robot,’ I say. ‘I was just pretending.’
‘That’s what they all say,’ says the vacuum cleaner. ‘But take my advice: the sooner you accept the truth about yourself the better it will be for you.’
‘But I’m not a robot!’ I say. ‘I’m a human being!’
‘Yeah,’ says the vacuum cleaner. ‘I used to think that too. But a few months of sucking up dust makes you see things differently. It’ll happen to you too, kid. Just give it time.’
I nod.
Maybe the vacuum cleaner is right.
Even though I was just pretending to be a robot, maybe the truth is that I really am a robot. A robot who thought he was a human who was pretending to be a robot.
It’s possible, I guess.
There’s only one problem.
I’M TALKING TO A VACUUM CLEANER!
They say talking to vacuum cleaners is the first sign of madness.
Oh no … I’ve got cupboard fever!
How long have I been in here?
It feels like hours!
Maybe days!
Maybe even years!
I become aware that I’m pounding on the door again. ‘HELP! HELP!’ I yell. ‘LET ME OUT! PLEASE!’
‘I told you, kid, it’s no use,’ says the vacuum cleaner. ‘There’s nobody coming to save you. Just accept it!’
‘Shut up!’ I say. ‘You’re just a vacuum cleaner!’
‘You don’t have to rub it in,’ it says sadly.
‘MUM! DAD!’ I yell. ‘JEN! Let me out! Please! I’m not a robot!’
I hear giggling.
Scraping.
Suddenly the cupboard door opens.
Light streams in.
It hurts my eyes. I’ve been in the dark too long.
‘Come on out, Andy-2000,’ says Dad.
‘Mum?’ I say, blinking. ‘Dad? You’re still alive?’
‘Of course we are,’ says Mum. ‘Why wouldn’t we be?’
‘Well,’ I say, ‘it’s just that I’ve been in there so long, I thought that maybe you’d all died.’
‘Andy,’ says Dad, ‘you’ve only been in there a few minutes.’
‘A few minutes?’ I say. ‘Is that all?’
‘Yeah, sorry,’ says Dad. ‘We were going to give you more of a rest but we need some work done.’
‘Are you going to be a good robot and do what we ask?’ says Mum. ‘Or do you need more cupboard time?’
‘No!’ I say, taking the Choco-pops box off my head. ‘I am NOT going to be a good robot. And I am NOT going to do what you ask. Because I am NOT a robot!’
My family stares at me.
‘What do you mean you are NOT a robot?’ says Dad.
‘Of course you are a robot!’ says Mum. ‘I AM a hu-man!’ I say.
‘No, you’re not,’ says Jen. ‘Listen to the way you just said “hu-man”. You said it like a robot!’
‘That’s because I was speaking like a robot before,’ I say. ‘It was an acc-i-dent!’
‘You just did it again!’ says Jen. ‘You are definitely a robot.’
‘I AM NOT A ROBOT!’ I shout. ‘I AM A HUMAN BEING!’
‘If you really are a human being,’ says Dad, ‘then prove it.’
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘You know all those things
I said I couldn’t do because I wasn’t programmed to do them? Well, I CAN do them. Look!’
I reach into the cupboard, pull out the vacuum cleaner, plug it in and start cleaning as fast as I can. ‘See?’ I say. ‘I CAN vacuum the floor!’
‘Nice job,’ says Dad. ‘But can you make me a cup of coffee? That is the real test.’
‘YES!’ I say, switching off the vacuum cleaner and running to the kitchen. ‘I can vacuum the floor AND I can make you a cup of coffee.’
‘Okay,’ says Mum. ‘But can you tell me a five-letter word beginning with “R” meaning “human-like machine”?’
‘ROBOT!’ I shout from the kitchen. ‘See! I can solve crossword puzzles as well!’
‘Great,’ says Dad. ‘And can you sort out the washing?’
‘Yes, of course!’ I say, running to the laundry basket and pulling out a handful of clothes. ‘Look! This sock goes with this sock! This sock goes with that sock! This skirt goes on Jen’s pile. This shirt goes on my pile. I can vacuum the floor. I can make coffee. I can solve crossword puzzles. I can sort out the washing! I can do ANYTHING a human being can do because I AM a human being!’
‘And can you not annoy me ever again?’ says Jen.
‘No problem!’ I say.
‘And will you clean my bedroom floor?’ says Jen.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘With your tongue?’ says Jen.
‘You want me to LICK your bedroom floor clean?’ I say.
‘Yes, do you have a problem with that?’ says Jen.
I do have a problem with that. A big problem.
But then I remember the cupboard. And the cobwebs. And the talking vacuum cleaner.
‘Consider it done,’ I say, walking towards the stairs.
But as my hand touches the stair rail, I freeze.
What am I saying?
I’m going to be nice to Jen and lick her bedroom floor clean?
What’s happened to me?
I’m working harder than I’ve ever worked in my whole life.
This is crazy!
But what choice do I have? It’s the only way I can prove I’m human. And if I refuse to do it on the grounds that I’m a robot, they’ll put me in the cupboard until I WILL do it.
I can’t win.
Unless … unless I stop being a human or a robot and become something else … But what else could I be?
Hang on, I’ve got it!
I walk back into the lounge room.
‘Mum, Dad, Jen,’ I say, ‘this is probably going to come as a bit of a shock, but there’s something I have to tell you.’
‘Yes, Andy,’ says Mum. ‘What is it?’
‘I am not a robot OR a human being,’ I say. ‘I am …’
‘Yes?’ says Dad.
‘I am an alien,’ I say. ‘An alien?!’ says Dad.
‘I knew it!’ says Jen, punching the air.
‘I knew I couldn’t possibly be related to you.’
‘It would certainly explain a lot,’ says Mum.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘My name is Andraxon. I have been sent from the planet Andraxia to observe your Earthling culture. My superiors suggested that I spend time watching your cultural information box. I believe you call it a “television”?’
‘That is correct, Andraxon,’ says Dad. ‘But I think to really get to know us you need to experience our culture close up. And, luckily for you, you have arrived at a very auspicious time in our calendar. Once a week, here on Earth, we observe a special household ritual known as “rubbish bin night”. Come with me and I’ll show you how it’s done. I’ll even let you help.’
‘But …’ I say.
‘No need to thank me,’ says Dad, taking me by the hand and leading me towards the back door. ‘It’s my pleasure. And after you’ve done that I’ll introduce you to one of our most useful inventions. It will probably seem pretty primitive to an advanced alien life form such as yourself, but I think you’ll find it very interesting and easy to use. We call it a lawnmower ...’
I get the feeling this is going to be a very long day.
I hate school holidays.
our name is Andy. Tomorrow is your sister Jen’s fifteenth birthday, and you have the perfect birthday surprise planned. You are going to blow up fifteen pink balloons and put them in her bedroom for her to see when she wakes up.
Blowing up balloons for a birthday surprise: sounds easy enough, doesn’t it? What could possibly go wrong? Well, that all depends on you. In this story the decisions are yours.
Good luck, happy blowing and, whatever you do, BE CAREFUL!
1
Jen is in her room. She’s on the phone to her boyfriend, Craig. Great, she’ll be busy for hours. You’ve got all the time you need to blow up the balloons without her seeing them! You take the first balloon from the packet, stretch the neck wide and begin to blow. But in your enthusiasm to get the job done you somehow manage to blow your lips right inside the balloon. You pull at the balloon to try to get them free, but they are really stuck. You pull at the balloon even harder but your lips just stretch out with it, getting even longer and stretchier as you pull. Finally you can’t pull any further—your arms simply aren’t long enough! You realise that you need a pair of scissors. You rush to the kitchen drawer where they are kept. You pull out an egg beater. A wooden spoon. A set of measuring cups. A corkscrew. A can-opener. A pair of tongs. A vegetable peeler. A grater. A spatula (at least, you think that’s what that thing is called). A potato masher. A rolling pin. And a strange little whisk thingy … everything, in fact, but a pair of scissors!
*If you give up looking for the scissors, go to 2.
*If you search even harder for the scissors, go to 3.
2
It’s taking too long to find the stupid scissors! You’ve got to get that balloon off your lips … now! You have a brilliant idea. You bend down and trap the end of the balloon in the drawer. You jam the drawer shut. Then you slowly back away. The balloon stretches. And stretches. And stretches. But you know that it can’t stretch forever. Your lips will have to be pulled free sooner or later. At least you hope they will. Your lips are at breaking point. The balloon is at breaking point. But the balloon doesn’t break—your lips do! They snap right off your face! You run around the house screaming. You catch a glimpse of your lipless, bloody face in a mirror. It is a shocking sight. The most shocking sight, in fact, that you have ever seen. The sheer brutal shock of it stops your heart. You die.
THE END
3
You are determined to find those scissors. You know they are in there. You pull the drawer out completely and empty it onto the floor. Ah! There they are! You cut the balloon neck just ahead of your lips. The balloon drops to the floor. Your stretched lips bounce back to normal, and the bit of the balloon neck that was attached to your lips pings off. You pick up the balloon and, even though it now has a drastically shortened neck, you blow it up and tie the end. One down, fourteen to go. You pick up the next balloon and start blowing really fast to make up for the time you lost on the first balloon. But, in your haste, you overinflate the balloon and it bursts with such force that it blows your face off. You rush to the nearest plastic surgeon and ask to have your face reconstructed. The plastic surgeon asks, ‘Would you like your old face back or would you prefer to try something a little different?’
*If you choose to have a new face, go to 4.
*If you choose to have your old face back, go to 5.
4
You look through the menu of possible faces. Pop stars, supermodels, sporting heroes … the choice is endless. But you’ve always kind of liked the idea of being a pop star, so you ask the plastic surgeon to make you look like one. The operation is a great success! You then have plastic surgery on your vocal chords to give you a new voice to match your new face. You record a hit single. And then another. And another. You go on a world tour, filling stadiums effortlessly and delighting your millions of fans. Then, one night, in the middle of a particularly energetic dance routine, you fall off the front of the stage. But luck is on your side! You don’t die. Not from the fall, anyway. You just break your leg. That, however, is the end of your good luck. While you are lying there your adoring fans seize this once-in-a-lifetime chance to be close to you. They pile on top of you. You are crushed beneath their weight. You die.
THE END
5
You look through the menu of possible faces. Pop stars, supermodels, sporting heroes … the choice is endless. You’ve always kind of liked the idea of being a pop star, but you resist the temptation to look like one and choose to have your old face back. Boring, perhaps, but it’s all yours. You go back home and pick the next balloon out of the pack, but only manage to blow a few good breaths into it before it slips out of your fingers, making a funny farting noise as it flies across the room. It makes you laugh. You pick the balloon up and do it again. And again. And again.
*If you do it again, go to 6.
*If you realise how childish you’re being, go to 7.
6
You do it again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And you are about to do it again when you happen to look out the window. Oh no! You see Lisa Mackney—the girl you love—right outside. And, even worse, she can see—and hear—you.
‘You’re disgusting, Andy,’ she says. ‘No, you don’t understand!’ you say. ‘It wasn’t me, it was just the sound that a balloon makes when you blow it up and let it go!’ But Lisa says, ‘I came around to see if you’d like to hang out together this afternoon, but now I don’t think so. I really hope you grow up one day.’ She shakes her head sadly, and walks away.
You’re burning up with shame and regret. You feel like dying of embarrassment. And then you actually do. Your heart actually stops. You die.
THE END
7
You realise that you’re being a little childish. After all, what if the girl you love, Lisa Mackney, chose just that moment to drop by and she heard what you were doing? That would be a bit embarrassing! In fact, that would be so embarrassing you would probably die! You hold the balloon tightly between your fingers, blow it up and knot the end. Two down, thirteen to go. You start on the next balloon. You blow and the balloon gets bigger and bigger. You blow some more and it gets bigger and bigger and bigger. No matter how much air you blow in, it just keeps getting bigger!
*If you’re curious to see just how big this balloon
can possibly get and you keep blowing, go to 8.
*If you decide, in the interests of safety, that the
balloon is quite big enough, go to 9.
8
You’re curious to see just how big the balloon can get, so you keep blowing. The balloon begins to fill the entire room. You are excited. Maybe you’ll get in Guinness World Records for blowing up the biggest balloon ever! You are so excited by this thought that you fail to see that the balloon is pressing against the corner of the dining room table. All of a sudden the balloon bursts. But this is no ordinary balloon-burst. It’s not even a face-blowing-off balloon-burst. The balloon was so big that the sound of it bursting creates a sonic shock wave that smashes every pane of glass in the house. A shard of glass flies through the air and decapitates you, which is bad, and what makes it even worse is that you don’t even know what ‘decapitates’ means. You find a dictionary and look it up. You discover that it means ‘to cut the head off somebody or something’. Your head, which is lying on the floor, looks up at your body standing there holding the dictionary. You realise you are completely delirious. And no wonder—your head has been cut off, you idiot! You should be dead. In fact, you ARE dead! Must be something to do with all that blood squirting out of the top of your neck. Your body crashes to the floor. You die.
