The Rise of the Machines

I eyed it warily. All seemed in place. There was a handle, a hinge, some glass in the middle. Standard. Deceptively plain. I edged toward it. It remained still.

“Now calm down,” I told myself.

“It’s just ordinary. You have done this a thousand times before. You are the sentient being, it is the tool. Push through and claim your mastery over it.”
“But look, those ones are automatic!”

Indeed they were. I glanced at them. They were of a slightly different design, with hinges in the middle. They creaked apart then slid shut to the rhythm of the steady stream of shoppers, like great sets of teeth chomping away.

“Yes, but you aren’t going through those. These are your way out, and clearly they haven’t motion sensed you swithering on the spot like a frightened ostrich. Now come on, move!”

I screwed my courage to the sticking plate and girded my loins as far as they would gird. I seized the handle, and applied my weight firmly.

To my relief it opened, and I passed through unharmed. But wait. That felt too easy, it felt lighter than it should have… maybe it’s one of that cruel breed that only close by themselves!

I was being casually observed now by a man sitting on the steps outside. As nonchalantly as I could, I glanced back over my shoulder.

It stood wide open. Well I couldn’t leave things like that could I? The cold breeze wafting freely into the nice warm centre? I turned on my heel - a little annoyed with myself and the world - and grasped once more for it.

Before I could reach, as if on cue, it smugly shut itself in my face with an effortless hiss.

The man on the steps smiled, and a little part of me died.