The Container
Consequences of Loneliness
I was buried. How long it had been, I do not know. This container was placed underground long ago, after humans built the robots. They are looking for us now, and we went into hiding. Food was scarce. I had to sneak topside to forage for greens and collect whatever I saw that actually grew. My diet was boring, and there were no markets left where anyone could buy food. We became obsolete when the man-made artificial people realized they were more intelligent and stronger than us.
There was no sunshine. I hadn’t enjoyed a nice tan in what felt like forever. Time outside was limited to quickly collecting food and getting back underground. The cyborgs hunted and searched tirelessly for humans because we were worthless to them. But we weren’t. Not really. I didn’t know why I had such thoughts then. We were unwise, yes, but not worthless. What was worthless was a world without love, without sentiment, or creativity. But there was no reason for poetry, no need for art, or romantic gestures. Artificial humans had no need for those things. And without someone to appreciate them and the emotions they evoked, everything became gray. I had to be careful. I was alone here; I didn’t know how to find another human being. It was so lonely. I hoped some of us were at least trying to find others. But then again, maybe I was the only one left.
I suddenly heard a scratching at the container’s door. It wasn’t unusual, really. Creatures that had survived the Borgs and debris had often scared the bejesus out of me. I got used to it and dismissed it after a while. Still, it had been a while since the last time. I put it out of my mind and continued reading my tattered copy of Pride and Prejudice for the millionth time. How I wished I had someone to love and be loved by.
The scratching continued, but then there was mewling; slight, soft, yet still mewling. Then a low whine and a yelp. It couldn’t be. It had been so long since I had heard similar sounds; I just had to take a moment to remember what they came from. Then it came to me, and I just about ran to the entrance to open the door. The reason hit me, and I stopped. I listened again. It had stopped for a moment, but now it started up again. I opened the door.
It came running in and leaped into my arms. Whining and almost inconsolable, it clung to me. I was almost in tears. It was so friendly and seemed loving. It had been so long since I had felt those feelings from anything living.
I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t let him be killed off or die of hunger, alone. I decided to keep him. I would forage a little extra each time I snuck out, and I would keep him. I needed some kind of connection to something living other than myself, so I decided to keep him as my companion. He might guard me or warn me of danger at some point, I thought.
But it was a wrong thought, a wrong wish, and a wrong plan. It was my volition and my doom.
I held on to my little treasured companion. I cried at the warmth of another living thing. I yearned for some affection from anyone or anything, and I just held him in my arms until the tears subsided. I ate something and, so worn by this turn of events, lay down and took a long nap. I woke to my new friends nudging me awake. When I finally sat up, it came to me, and I held it again, petting and caressing it. I heard a faint clicking and noticed its eyes for the first time. They were lenses, much like those on a miniature camera we used to have when we were living normally in the world. In the same moment, the door slammed open, and a group of cyber hunters came through and shot me with their laser weapon.
As I fell to the ground, in a single, brief moment, I watched the robotic dog run to them and realized the major mistake I made in letting anything inside my sanctuary. I had let my guard down and lost everything.
For as long as I could remember, I had been hyper-aware and cautious in life; I could not let my guard down for even a second. And there I was, dead, a product of my need for another living thing and my idiocy. This was my tomb. I was buried.
(Published by Challenge and Chaos on Medium, July 2026)
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About the Creator
Alexandra Grant
Inked Stories That Leave a Mark. I write essays, stories, and poetry, sharing my life experiences and lessons, keeping it real and raw. I'll bare my soul to those who have experienced similar things, so they know they are not alone.
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