I Am Not a Robot

Flash fiction - by George Nikolopoulos

"Just press here," says the tall, square-jawed man with the grey uniform standing outside the office building.

I look at his tablet. I am not a robot is written on the screen in bold brown letters, next to the red circle that I'm supposed to press.

"Why?" I ask. "I've never had to do this before."

"I’m sorry," he says, though he doesn't look sorry at all. "We need to ensure that you are a human before you can enter the premises."

I sigh and press the circle. I am not a robot.

"Thank you. You may proceed."

I look behind me; a queue has already formed. All my coworkers must also prove that they are not robots.

We don't talk about it much, at work. No one's in the mood. We try to shrug it off. A feeling of depression is in the air, but we're fast becoming used to that.

Before I take the bus home, I go to the supermarket for the daily groceries. I put some stuff in my cart and head to the checkout counter.

When it's time to pay, the clerk points to a mark on his monitor display.

"Please press on the screen," he says. He laughs, like it's some kind of joke. "Just to make sure that you are not a robot," he says. "I mean, we can't very well have robots walking around the premises, bothering our customers." He laughs again, though it sounds more like a snicker.

I shake my head and press on the mark. I am not a robot.

I need to do it on the bus, too. To get a ticket, I must once more prove to the world that I am not a robot.

I grit my teeth and press on the conductor's screen. I am not a robot.

"Thank you. Here's your ticket. Enjoy your ride."

"What have you got against robots, anyway?" I mutter under my breath as I go to take my seat. "Why can't they even ride a bus?"

"Excuse me, did you say something?"

"No, I'm sorry."

I get off the bus, and there's a man squatting on the pavement next to the bus stop. Despite myself, I'm drawn to look at him. He's ragged and unkempt, with long hair and a dirty grey beard. I search my pockets for some spare change to give him. The man lifts his head and fixes his slanted blue eyes on me. A metallic glint reflects off his brow. "Three times you denied me," he says.

An armed guard is stationed before the entrance to my apartment block.

"Please press here to prove you are human," he says gruffly, showing me a pulsating orange spot on his screen. "No bloody robots allowed beyond this point."

For a long moment, my hand hovers over the tablet. I feel something break inside of me. I don't press on the screen. I can't take any more of this. "I am a robot," I tell him through gritted teeth.

He looks at me blankly. "What did you just say, sir?"

"I am a robot!" I scream, with all the strength of my mechanical lungs.

First they came for the robots. And I did not speak out.

But now I will.