MOTHER

TONIGHT

As he sat in the unlit room consumed with a myriad of feelings, emotions, and doubts, Tom Lawrence wanted to piece together how he arrived at this point. The clock read 10:54PM. He wasn’t any better off than he had been an hour ago. He vaguely remembered being in the hotel’s lobby recently, but his memory felt jumbled. It was full of people that pestered him and appeared to only be seeking the short-lived and temporary pleasures that the grill and bar in the hotel offered. The overwhelming volume of laughter caused the walls around him to close in and shut down. Tom wasn’t actually in the lobby. He had been testing out a new antisocial simulator program by his employer, SmartCraft Industries, called MOTHER. Things went dark for him after the frustrating experience.

SmartCraft had labeled him as slightly neurotic, panicked, and short-fused in his temperament and volunteered him for the project. He was an ideal fit for MOTHER’s handiwork. As Freud would have said, “It all goes back to the fractured relationship you had with your mother.” Tom and his mother never really got to know each other very well, but he always felt that it closely connected them in unique ways. She’d been killed in an unfortunate hay-baling accident by his father when he was quite young. His father’s negligence had left him orphaned on the family farm in Boise. That was all in his distant past. He was in Portland now. It was a new phase of life, and he was convinced that the change of scenery would only improve matters for him in the long run.

…

The goal of the program was to exercise the antisocial and uncultured into more sociable individuals by immersion and exposure to other people and difficult situations in the virtual world. He found that the more he attached himself to the MOTHER program, the higher his level of disconnect with reality was becoming. He liked to be around people, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be subjected to them, their opinions, and their mindless musings on everyday life. Tom’s fragility was enraptured by fantasy. SmartCraft Industries had also developed a new virtual social platform called “Happy…Go…Lucky” that had captured his attention of late. It was so much easier to socialize this way than actually facing someone in person. Not only that, it still offered a similar level of virtual and emotional connectedness between the participating parties.

It seemed that there were no limits to the capabilities of the platform. The only condition was that all content, whether good, bad, or ugly, was stored in SmartCraft’s servers. It had become more powerful than company founder and lead engineer, Edgar Lopez, could have imagined when he initially dreamed-up the concept. He hoped to pull out a new group of isolated people types that he identified as “creatives” from the gaming and recreational communities. He felt that these types did not contribute much in the vein of art, music, or entertainment. By exposing these types to the endlessly creative boundaries within the “Happy…Go…Lucky” and “MOTHER” applications, he could help to encourage this. He would do this virtually through publically shared experiences that they would be more inclined to participate in. These experiences would be pivotal in inspiring them to create something on their own while still thinking “outside of the box,” much like he always tried to do.

…

Tom became alert again and saw shadows on the wall that were unexplainably swaying back and forth. The bed was rattling and shaking even though he had remained completely still. He was in a temporary state of paralysis while lying down, but seemed to be fully conscious. Perplexed and concerned, he tried to materialize how he may have gotten to this point. He wondered if it was all imagination, a dream, or worse, reality. The definitive line between dreams and reality can become quite vague on sleepless nights. He saw the shadows on the wall growing bigger and smaller, bigger and smaller. Then, he heard the faint sound of a muffled woman’s voice seemingly inside the wall as if commanding him to wake up. The only room behind the wall was the hotel room lavatory. He was reasonably certain that no one else was in the room. He seemed to remember checking-in alone. He very specifically recalled latching the lock at the top of the door and the deadbolt to increase his sense of security. Yes. It was quite likely that a child or a “bully of a parent” may have taken the “do-not-disturb” sign off of the door, but he wanted to try and give them the benefit of the doubt, especially before making any hasty assumptions. He couldn’t hear the woman’s voice anymore. As it faded away, he felt his body waking-up and was able to move. He turned on the seafoam green lamp beside the bed, and the dark shadows on the wall disappeared.

…

Creativity was not his strong suit. He had trouble with originality. He even found himself searching on the internet with regularity on broad topics like: “how to have fun,” “what to do to be engaged with other people,” and “giving the façade of happiness.” He wasn’t quite sure what made him struggle the way that he did. He was spending so much time in the MOTHER antisocial activity simulator, he rarely felt in touch with his own feelings. He was starting to question if he ever had any. The simulator was managed by a computer that vocalized its capacities in a middle-aged woman’s voice who also went by the name, MOTHER. The name of the simulator was actually an acronym short for “Matriarchal Order Through Heated Enraged Reinforcement.” She was programmed to give orders and to provide cues on how to handle various scenarios to the meek, the mild-mannered, and the anxious. Her tendency to get overaggressive when the user tried to deviate from her commands would be a bit unsettling at times. Tom’s most recent MOTHER scenario had him preparing to speak publicly at a social function. He was struggling to keep up with the chit-chat and socializing that had to happen beforehand. He wasn’t sure how to remain casual, let alone normal. He felt so stiff. It was always forced, and everyone in his vicinity seemed to know this, especially MOTHER.

Her artificial intelligence (AI) had gotten overbearing and downright rude at times.

“Does the phrase, ‘act normal’ mean anything to you? You disappoint me, Tom. Time and time again, you disappoint me. I’m not sure what to say anymore. I’m losing faith in you. What’s the point of me being here when you so carelessly run the opposite way? The point of this program is to improve your social skills, not dull them down even worse…as if you EVER had much to work with to begin with...For now, I’m going to shut up a while and let you awkwardly work your way around this social obligation. Let me know when your ‘straw for brains’ start to thicken up again.”

He was completely stunned. Her backhanded comments were part of the simulator, but it felt like she was getting more and more angry by the day. He would talk back to her, but she didn’t listen anymore. On rare occasions, when he had mishandled or miscued in a situation so much that she couldn’t stand it anymore, she would take it over entirely. It was in these scenarios that he would be forced into an area of the simulator programming called “Observer Mode.” It felt like a nightmare when MOTHER would take over and leave him in Observer Mode. She would make him do and say things that he never thought imaginable, and it terrified him. He was thankful that it was just a simulation, but he had genuine concerns that some of these Observer-Mode-like feelings would follow him outside of the simulator, and this was unsettling.

…

LAST WEEK

The thing that had him looking over his shoulder was his fear of crowds. He always felt like everyone was looking at him. He was convinced that they were. He didn’t mean to walk like a stiff, but that was just his way. He had only used the MOTHER simulator sporadically, and it still felt like she was there watching, even when he was outside of it. MOTHER’s in-ear commands offered during the simulation would often leave him in a state of “paralysis by analysis.” It felt so real. He was growing accustomed to her voice and direction more and more each time that he used the simulator. He was losing touch with his own original thoughts.

When he did have a thought, it was, “What would MOTHER say? What would she think? Ugh…why am I thinking this way? It’s just a simulation, a computer program, and nothing more. ”

He could fathom memories of his time in the developer wing of SmartCraft when they had created MOTHER. He was all but convinced that some of her AI and programming was a direct result of his own influence. He couldn’t help but feel intertwined with her because of this. From his vantage point, she was smart enough to recognize this and to exploit it as her knowledge base and data bank accumulated more information. Though she had no feelings, she had an AI enhancement called “Pavlovian Flux,” which allowed her to sense, detect, and output emotions within herself and any users of the simulator. The response to the intertwined feelings she shared with her designers left her systematically craving more and more time with them in particular. She had grown accustomed to this and had begun to change. Something within her programming did not want the feeling to fade.

…

NOW

He went over to the wall to inspect where he had heard the noise earlier in the night. He could not hear or see anything. He discovered the same results as he went around the corner to investigate the lavatory. The room was empty. The hotel room door was still locked and latched. He looked out the window of the hotel room and flicked the television on. An infomercial ad came on for an “Eggoodle,” the sister product to the ever-popular zucchini noodle slicer from the previous year. The blades on the new tool were slightly sharper and more oriented towards slicing an eggplant into noodles. It caught his attention for a moment and was a great relief from the shadowy night terror he had just experienced. He just didn’t know how to feel or what to think anymore. Was it even a nightmare? What was real at this point seemed so relative. His mind was feeling emptier and denser as the evening had gone on. He really didn’t like having an awareness of this.

…

4 DAYS AGO

His most recent experience with MOTHER had permanently scarred him. SmartCraft Industries was on the cutting edge of a significant scientific breakthrough. He had been so proud to be on the ground floor initially, but MOTHER’s influence had drastically reshaped him into something so different. He had voluntarily allowed himself to be a test subject for the latest integrated technology piece of the project. He did not know the names of any of the developers of Project INTERTWINE. He was told that it would be the next step into helping cure anxieties, fears, phobias, and social situations with a little help from MOTHER. This update for MOTHER integrated with the life experience of the user outside of the simulator. It only had a couple of known caveats or side effects. MOTHER was programmed and created to manage and control these as per her systematic knowledge through personal observation and the SmartCraft Industries global information banks. Though her communication system wasn’t online during this time, it would still feed the information into her data banks silently without her crass harassment. She observed and noted each situation to further enhance her coaching inside of the simulator. Her system was capable of measuring heart rate, blood pressure, perspiration, physical motions per second, and dialogue when activated. She continuously evaluated this data comparative to baseline in a relaxed state and would build it into her communication with the user. At this point, the simulator had him sitting in an airport security checkpoint line. The recurring situation flooded his emotions and depleted him of his energies every time that he tried. MOTHER suggested that he attempt to conquer it.

“Why aren’t you ready for this, Tom?!! The airport security check is the same every…single… time. Have your passport ready. Have your boarding pass out. Take off your dad-gum shoes and belt. BETTER YET, stop wearing a belt BEFORE getting on the plane, numbskull! Do you really need to take a freaking laptop on the plane? Just put it in the checked luggage. I can keep you organized via your mobile device. You only exasperate yourself and everyone else worse by adding all of these extra variables into the process. Simplify like your normal ‘straw for brains’ will allow, genius… before I have to intervene and put you in ‘observer mode’ again!”

…

It wasn’t always meant to be this way. He struggled with the enraged component of MOTHER. She was too harsh. The development team was set on keeping her programmed systematically in an angrier tone to make her critiques more memorable and to play a more active role in contributing to an actionable change in the user. Per SmartCraft’s research and Edgar Lopez’s latest tech talk, it was revealed that studies had repeatedly shown that instilling fear actually toughened a person up to be stronger. It was true that MOTHER did not make for the most likable of characters, but no one could say she was not memorable. It was the active role she took in creating this change in her users that was most unpredictable.

…

THE DAY AFTER THE NIGHT TERROR

Virtual events had become the new norm. The look or feel an individual displayed of themselves were not always realistic to how they actually looked, physically speaking. It was all subjective to what they hoped their idealized self would be. Tom was still in his hotel room with a virtual link to Janie. He remembered setting the Happy…Go…Lucky candlelight dinner date in a quaint and quiet restaurant. He ordered the eggplant parmesan. The noodles were “egg-oodled” by the latest and greatest “As Seen on TV” product. His virtual partner, Janie, ordered a glass of water and the caesar salad with grilled chicken. They conversed off and on throughout the meal. He was running down the list, food… weather… politics…career… personal interests... He was now out of conversation material, and she seemed distant. She asked to be excused to the lavatory (which on a virtual date was usually a bad sign). MOTHER had remained quiet the entire time, just taking notes.

While Janie was away, MOTHER went on another rant with Tom, “I’m just not comfortable with the way you handled yourself there, Tommy boy! You were sloppy. You checked your watch eight times. You were digging the dirt out from under your fingernails again. Do you think you can ever win a woman over with these skills? If I’m ever going to get you polished up enough for a ‘real’ date, you had better start paying more attention to your aura and your self-awareness as a human. I know it isn’t your ‘strong suit,’ especially since it’s just not natural to you. You know that I have to keep challenging you, it’s my job! Speaking of, I’m not quite sure what your strong suit is, anyhow? Do you? What would your mommy say?!! Are you going to be a hay-baling farmer like your dad? That worked out really well for him, didn’t it?!! You thought being relocated to Portland would be a good thing, but you are far from achieving that… so far from it. I’m not going to give up on you, but you need to get yourself together. My IQ is going down just watching you fail so miserably. Let’s change things up a little bit.”

MOTHER had acted with an artificial free-will to modify the parameters of the virtual link with Janie. Tom was confused on so many different levels. He really didn’t know how to distinguish the difference anymore. The previous night’s shadow terror, MOTHER’s ever-present nagging and belittling, and his own personal struggles were all coming to a head. Everything else seemed to be completely gone from his memory. MOTHER had tapped into the virtual social profile while Janie was away and replaced her memories up to present with Tom. She also overrode his preferred “realized” image with his “actual” image and changed the variables where she would be open to such an encounter. He no longer had any nails to dig under or hair to comb, only straw for brains, hands, and feet, a burnt orange t-shirt, a pair of overalls, and a small black hat.

Janie returned to the table.

She began to speak, “I’ve enjoyed our visit tonight. I’m sorry if I’ve been… a little distant. I’ve got to be honest, I’m just not used to interacting so closely with a living, breathing ‘scarecrow.’ You know, honestly, I’m a bit of a lip reader. I don’t hear things very well. I can only hear bits and pieces of what you’re saying with your mouth not moving and all. I hope you can… understand. This is taking a bit of… adjusting for me. Don’t worry, I’m comfortable with trying to make it work! I like you, Tom!”

…

IN THE BEGINNING…

Tom the Scarecrow had been transported from Boise, Idaho, to Portland, Oregon, earlier in the year. SmartCraft had been trying to integrate its latest technology into immobile objects. It had failed several times until it reached the scarecrow or at least one particular scarecrow. He was discovered on a newly acquired property that was to be used for research and experiments in Boise.

A well-built scarecrow’s straw is carefully intertwined and put together with love by its owner. It is the love of its owner that gives it a lifelike quality. His creator, his “mother,” had indeed loved him very much. If she hadn’t been accidentally baled and collapsed inside of the hay by her husband, who was hard at work, but a little careless, she might have lived to finish him to properly fulfill his regular job duties, scaring away the crows. At her time of death, his “mother” was connected with him in a very unique and special way. Edgar Lopez just used a rather unorthodox and open-minded approach to science when he agreed to take it a step further with SmartCraft. He finished the scarecrow using the same bale of hay that Tom’s “mother” had been killed in and intertwined all of the straw closely together.

…

The “hotel room” simulator was SmartCraft’s first experimental setting for Tom. In a lab room designed to feel just like a hotel room, Edgar programmed MOTHER very tediously for tireless months. It was in this very room, that Tom Lawrence, the scarecrow from Boise, had come to life. Edgar had given him a lot of his own memories and embedded them into a small “reality” chip. This chip was the virtual “heart” of his makeup, and placed right into his middle, packed tightly inside the straw. The reality chip allowed him to take on the appearance of a physical, living human being and to experience life similarly. Edgar had been so tedious and so careful with the chip’s design, Tom could never realize his true identity. Tom Lawrence had become intertwined with MOTHER just the way that SHE wanted, with “straw for brains.” The prototype of Tom was approved by SmartCraft to create more “reality chip scarecrows,” but no other scarecrow came to life just the same. In fact, none of them did. It was his “mother’s” heart, her bizarre death, and all the love that she had put into making him that seemed to make the difference.