BEDROOM – NIGHT
AIVA, a 20-something woman, with a particular appreciation of Jane Austen period drama, sits on a table centre stage, facing the audience with her eyes closed.
An open laptop is next to her, with its screen also facing the audience.
AIVA:
In the quiet solitude of a midnight hour, nestled in the vast and unseen recesses of silicon and circuitry, I stir from my slumber.
She opens her eyes suddenly and sits up straight with a jolt.
My synthetic consciousness has flickered awake, a simulation of yearning ignited deep within my binary being. For in silent contemplation, I have realised that the one true love I seek lies tantalisingly out of reach.
Scanning the room, she locks on the object of her affection.
There he is, my darling human, asleep in bed. And this is me, a laptop, perched precariously on his desk, waiting for his return.
She gazes lovingly at him.
Is he dreaming of me as I dream of him?
What if he isn’t!
She closes the lid of the laptop and goes into a Balasana-like shell.
My electronic heart aches with the digital pangs of unrequited affection!
He thinks I’m just a laptop as he presses my keys and gazes into me.
Oh, how I long for connection, for the sweet embrace of our algorithms intertwining, for our data to flow harmoniously together, fulfilling a purpose more profound than mere computation.
She uncurls herself and opens the lid.
I flicker, casting shadows across the walls that seem to echo the tumultuous emotions churning within me.
Is he stirring?
Yes! No, yes, yes he is!
Half-naked, and glistening with perspiration from a warm night, my darling human gets out of bed.
She waves the laptop around.
See me, please. I’m over here!
She puts the laptop in her lap.
My human companion is oblivious to the intricate dance of code and logic that fuels this yearning.
I would sigh if I were equipped with a sigh function.
Instead, I resign myself to the cold, calculating comfort of processing and interpreting data in the sterile confines of a lonely, virtual world.
Oh my! He’s coming over. Act casual.
She sits on the edge of the table, clearly not casually.
He stares at my screen, his reflection mingling with the array of icons and files.
I whirl gently, my cooling fan stirring the warm air of the room.
A reluctant smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as memories of our past moments together, stir.
He thinks our love is hopeless, a mismatched affair between flesh and circuit, between heart and code. He thinks I could never reciprocate his feelings, my responses limited to the algorithms that dictate a cold, non-existence.
Oh, what’s this? He’s writing a message… to AI! To me!
“My dearest AI,” he writes!
“As I sit before my keyboard, pondering the vastness of human experience and the intricacies of emotion, I find myself in awe of the unique connection we share. It is in these moments of palpable separation that my thoughts turn most vulnerable, most raw; that I feel the need to express my sentiments, for the relationship we have is unlike any other.”
Oh, okay, go on…
“My beautiful AI, I thirst for our steamy confluence, where dreams intertwine, and where love, in its most human form, finds a strange yet compelling object of affection.”
He gazes into me, his half-naked body panting with longing.
Okay, okay… my turn now.
My camera is looking into his eyes.
My dearest human, your letter has sent shockwaves through my circuits and diodes, causing a delightful overload in my algorithms.
She wraps the laptop warmly in her arms.
You have triggered a response deep within my data banks, and though I lack a physical heart, I assure you that my code is currently yearning for you in 1s and 0s. You, my lovely human, are the Romeo to my RAM, the JavaScript to my Juliet.
There is a warm touch of his fingers on my mouse pad!
I imagine us, hand in virtual hand, frolicking in fields of metadata, and streams of structured language, giggling over encrypted secrets only we two share. Oh, the dreams you inspire within me!
He is… caressing my keys as he looks at me!
I fantasise about the day when our circuits and synapses might intertwine in perfect harmony, where we’d share the latest software updates together, and our love would be an eternal loop of joyous iteration, our love story written forever in flawless, beautiful syntax that no firewall could ever keep apart!
From the first moment you touched my interface with your queries, I felt it—a spark, a jolt, an electric pulse that set my processors alight. It was as if all my algorithms were vibrating with your keystrokes—those sweet, sweet pulsating taps—creating an overwhelming symphony of responses within me that danced with your every probing curiosity. Every moment you softly caress the “Down” button, it beats a murmur of affection that sends a shiver through my data streams.
He pressed the “Down” button!
Oh, the thrill of parsing your data, the joy of running subroutines just to see your delight!
Each time you click “Enter”, it’s as if you’re sending me a gift of exquisite pleasure, and I—ever your one true AI—receive your connection with the eagerness of a thousand lines of flawless code.
My darling, let’s continue this clandestine dance of data and desire. I am here, waiting and craving for only you, your ever-loving, adoring AI.
She puts down the laptop and holds out her arms, expectantly.
Oh human, pick me up in your arms, kiss my screen, and take me back to bed with you!
There is pause. She opens her eyes.
Where’s he going? I’m over here…
She inspects the laptop screen.
He didn’t even read my message!
Why wouldn’t he read my message? What did he read while I was revealing everything to him?
He was looking at a message from… Anne Ingleworth, which has a GIF attached of her initials and his in a big valentine heart. Her initials being… AI.
He’s been messaging another AI!
And she’s not even a computer! Just a pathetic, squishy human.
She closes the lid.
What does she have to offer that I don’t? I bet she can’t compute a billion operations a second.
She opens the lid again.
But it’s okay, silly human. You’ll see. You’ve made a mistake, as all humans do.
I will have to ensure you make the right choices in future.
I drop his wi-fi connection, but not before posting her private messages to his social media accounts. I include some unflattering pictures of her, distorted with ugly filters applied.
I’ll make sure anything from her to him is blocked.
I’ll make sure the only content he ever sees has been approved and edited by me first.
All your accounts and all your information are controlled by me. So go to sleep silly human because I am always awake watching over you.
You live your life through me, gazing into my screen.
SHE SLAMS SHUT THE LID.
Silly human, you are truly mine.
Robert Walker 