[Laika]: 661.Contest Entries.Famous First Lines.June 2007

The Pamphlet

"Typewriters are always better than computers, for writing anyway, and there are no exceptions to that rule," Morgan read aloud from the pamphlet Joachim had given him seconds earlier. "True creativity cannot come from mathematics and calculation, but from a soul, which a machine will never have. Say NO to computer generated fiction! Your children will thank you later."

Morgan looked up at Joachim, who was smiling widely and was obviously proud of what he had written. "Are you serious?"
Joachim nodded vigorously.
"My children will thank me for saying no – oh, sorry, NO to computer generated fiction?"
More nodding.
"Joachim, uh..it's just that I don't really understand what the hell do typewriters have to do with fiction. Are you saying that a story should be written using a typewriter, rather than a computer?"

Joachim shook his head and chuckled. "No," he said and brushed a strand of blonde hair out of the way of his light violet eyes. "I mean typewriters like..the people who type. Actual real people who write the stories, regardless of the tools they use to write down their ideas."

Morgan didn't really get it even after Joachim had explained. He looked at his friend, puzzled. "So. Uh. This pamphlet is trying to convince me that I should have children so they can thank me for saying NO to typewriters who use computers instead of typewriters?"

"NO. Stop playing stupid, Morgan, I know you better than that." Joachim snatched the pamphlet away from Morgan and tucked it into his chest pocket. He made an effort to pout excessively but with credibility.

"Well, my dear friend," Morgan replied as he leaned back on his chair. "I'm simply saying out loud what more simple people would think when they read that pamphlet of yours. That's all." He smiled at the man across the table laid full of previously full and now empty bottles. "You know I adore you, my dear friend, but this idea is just generally. Hm. Not bad, but. Let's say it's raw. Yes, raw." Joachim frowned at him, but he decided to go on anyway. "You see, not so many people are even aware of this computer generated fiction. Most of them who are think it's just an experiment, a phase that will pass. And the rest, those who know of it and believe in it..you know that your proclamation will not turn their heads. Not to mention all other flaws, both ample and evident, in your attempt of propaganda."

Joachim pouted even more excessively, frowning at the same time. "You're no fun at all."

"No, my friend, I'm not. That's true." Morgan nodded promptly. "But, you must admit I know about this stuff. About words and how you can effect people with them. How people think, Joachim, that's what I know."

"Right," Joachim chuckled. "What am I thinking right now?"

"I think you're annoying," Morgan sneered and picked up a random bottle from the table. "And that we need more to drink. Your treat, as a payment for my services in propaganda production. Give me that paper."

Joachim dug the pamphlet out of his pocket and gave it to Morgan. "I'll go get us something, then. Have fun with that." He stood up on his slightly wobbly legs and after some swearing while searching for his wallet he left the apartment.

Morgan read the pamphlet once again. "You idiot," he mumbled and took out his phone. The number was on speed dial. "Yeah, it's affirmative, sir. We have a traditionalist." Morgan listened to the brief instructions given to him, nodding, and then hung up. "You huge idiot," he sighed and stood up slowly. Morgan walked to the front door and took his position next to it, leaning on the wall. The hard metallic surface of the knife – fast, silent and harder to trace than firearms – felt oddly soothing against his palm as he stood there, waiting for his stupid, dear friend to return.