The Droid 3000
By: Dale Romney
It came to me the other day, The Droid 3000. The most powerful smartphone ever. It takes pictures with more definition than you thought possible. Records videos in 8k. This phone has made normal people social media superstars. Some of the greatest programs to this day have been written on it. The world's foremost hacker used this phone to crack into government mainframes around the world. Now it was all mine.
What should I do with it? I thought.
Over the next few days, I didn't do much with it. Normal things, you know, make phone calls, text people, browse the interwebs. The next night the phone started buzzing. Then the screen started flashing, illuminating my room. I grabbed it from my side table to see a message on the screen.
"What are you doing?"
"Sleeping," I said aloud with annoyance.
"Why?" it replied.
Unsure of what was happening, I said it was because I needed sleep to live.
"Interesting," it replied.
"Use me," flashed across the screen.
"I will in the morning," I said, putting the phone face down back onto my side table.
The next morning, I picked up the phone only to see the same message flashing across the screen, "Use me."
"In a minute," I said. "I'm going to check Tiktok and Instagram."
"Boooring," It flashed across the screen. "Use me for something fun."
"Maybe tomorrow. I'm busy today," I replied.
Later that day, while I was playing games, my mother yelled to me that a package had arrived for me. Sighing, I went upstairs to find a large crate in the driveway. I didn't remember ordering anything, especially nothing so large. I stepped outside to investigate and right there on the side was my name. I found a stockpile of guns and ammunition upon opening it. I slammed the lid back down; fear and worry began to build inside me. Who sent this to me? I wondered. On the delivery slip there was no name or return address.
I ran back to my room and grabbed the phone. "Did you do this," I asked, but there was no reply. Moments later, another knock could be heard at the front door, and I was again called to answer it. At the door stood a dingy looking man with a sunken face. He looked to be high and on several different drugs. The man called me by name and asked if I had the goods. When I asked him what he meant by the "goods."
He replied, "The guns man, the guns." The man then promptly removed his backpack and opened it to reveal several bags of white powder. "Drugs for guns, isn't that what we discussed?"
I told him I didn't know what he was talking about. That was when he put a knife to my throat. Frightened, I told him the guns were in the crate and he could have both the guns and the drugs. He eyed me questioningly, then I watched as fear spread through his eyes.
"This is a setup, isn't it?" he spoke.
Then dropping his pack, he jumped back into his car and drove off. Great, I thought. Now I have a crate full of weapons and a pack full of drugs. I threw the backpack into the crate and pushed it behind the house. "You are doing this aren't you?" I said to the phone.
"I did say we should do something fun. Are those sirens I hear?" it flashed across the screen.
I hurried inside, worried. Several minutes later, another knock came to the door. On my doorstep stood a police officer. He told me that a disturbance had been reported coming from my house and asked if he could, "Take a look around." I thought about asking him if he had a search warrant, but that seemed incriminating. I told him everything was okay but that he could look around anyway. Besides my mom wigging out that an officer was searching our house, I thought everything was going well, until he saw the crate out back.
"What's in the crate?" he asked.
"I don't know?" I replied. "It just arrived today. There is no sender. I was about to open it."
"Mind if I take a look?"
"Be my guest.""
As we walked to the crate I began to panic. Finding the nearest object, I hit the officer over the head with it, knocking him out cold. I was in full on panic mode. I raced inside, grabbed several articles of clothing, and jumped in my car and drove off. Then I went back to the park where I had received the phone and placed it on the bench where I found it. A small bit of guilt and a large chunk of pity filled my heart for the next poor sap who found it. The phone had brought me nothing but ruin to my life.
Now, here I am, sitting by myself, in a cabin, over one hundred miles out of town. No one around for miles. Living off what I can find in the forest and whatever creepy crawly makes its way across my floor. Sometimes, I think of going back and turning myself in, but for now, I am here all by myself.
Paul jumped in his chair. Who could that be? No one knew where he was living. He made his way to the window in time to see a delivery truck pull away, leaving something behind. From his view point it looked like a large crate. Nervously, Paul made his way to the door and slowly, he opened it. On the wooden porch was a shipping envelope. Paul cautiously opened it. Inside was a neatly typed letter.
Paul,
Your friend,