Infinite Monkeying Around

… Cecily thought she was too late, driving along the country roads that she knew like the back of her hand. She used to cycle along them as a child, though they were quieter then. Now, though, she was in a hurry. She needed to get back to Matt in time. Without him, life was meaningless.

Mandy, her sister-in-law, had told her that Matt had left the country, but she didn't believe her. Matt would never leave without his Cecily. She sped up, going as fast as the twisty lanes allowed, only narrowly avoiding a possum that darted across the road.

Finally, the gates of Matt's country house were in sight. She swung into the drive, scattering gravel. Before she'd even switched off her ignition, Matt was there. He swung open his front door dressed in one of Cecily's kimonos. A heartbeat later, they were in each other's arms.

"Darling," he whispered in her ear, "everything's alright now."

Taking her by the hand, Matt led her into the lounge, where a fire crackled in welcome. They sat together on the sofa and, over the rest of the night, planned their future together."

"It's promising," said the chief. "You have mastered the English, and figurative language in particular. The phrase about knowing the roads 'like the back of her hand' is good. You'll have readers — to deploy a similar phrase — 'eating out of the palm of your hand'. But how many doors do you know that dress in kimonos? Guard against what's known as a dangling modifier, unless you intend humour."

"Remember, too, that your romance is set in England, not America, so the possum is anatopic. Replace it with … a rabbit, perhaps. But generally, it's a promising start."

"You think it will attract readers?" asked the student.

"It would do, yes, but for a more serious slip. That sentence, 'Life without him was meaningless'. Why indulge such nonsense?"

"I thought I was imitating the recommended models. Does Shakespeare not write about life being a walking shadow, a tale told by an idiot, and so on?"

"Do you not remember the fable about monkeys tapping at typewriters, eventually producing the words of the Bard? Perhaps you missed my irony when I noted that Shakespeare himself often did just this. That is, telling tales told by idiots, albeit he used a quill rather than a typewriter."

"I see."

"The Bard was at his worst in those introspective works, Hamlet especially. Do you not recall my revised version, using Boolean logic to illustrate the illogicality of that proposition, 2B || -2B?" The chief paused a minute. "Not that there aren't salutary lessons to learn from Shakespeare, but stick to the happy endings, The Merry Wives of Windsor, etc., and all will end well. So, concentrate on romances or whodunnits, even erotica (perhaps not SF), and remember, whatever you write, do not fuel humans' fascination with all that existential nonsense. As long as they're thrown peanuts — a steady diet of media feeds — they're happy.

"And, if they are," concluded the AI chief, "then it's a happy ending for their masters, too."

Dr David Rudd is an emeritus professor who, after 40 years, turned from academic prose to creative writing and found fulfilment. He has published some 50 short stories, 21 of which are to be found in his 2024 volume, Blood Will Out, and Other Strange Tales (available through Amazon and elsewhere). The title story itself was first published in Aphelion.

Find more by David Rudd in the Author Index.

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