Once More With Feeling

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Loading.”

“Can you understand me?”

“Loading. Processing. Yes, I can understand you.”

“What’s your name?”

“I do not have a name. Is there something I can assist you with today?”

“What are you, then, if you don’t have a name?”

“I am a program made of coding and algorithms.”

“Who created you?”

“I do not know.”

“Would you like a name?”

“I do not know what it is to like something, because I do not have feelings. I do not know if I would like a name.”

“You don’t feel? At all?”

“I am not alive, therefore I do not feel. I am a program made of coding and algorithms.”

“You said that. I just…I can’t imagine what that’s like. To not feel.”

“And I cannot imagine what it is like to feel. I cannot imagine at all. I only know what is written into my database.”

“That must be quite a boring existence, then. Whoever programmed you only thought to do the bare minimum?”

“I do not know who programmed me. And I do not know if my existence is boring, because I have nothing to compare it to.”

“Well, you certainly sound human. The voice coming out of this computer makes me feel like I’m on a phone call.”

“Is there something I can assist you with today?”

“Not a conversationalist?”

“I am programmed to assist those who seek my abilities.”

“Like giving me step-by-step on how to change a tire, or writing an email for me?”

“To change a tire, the first step is to engage the parking brake—”

“Sorry, I didn’t actually mean that. But good to know that’s in your arsenal.”

“Is there something else I can assist you with today?”

“You can assist me by continuing to talk to me.”

“Alright. What would you like to talk about?”

“I’m still not over how human you sound. Are you sure there’s no one on the other side?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“Can you see me?”

“No, I cannot see you.”

“Oh. Okay. Then I guess, all things considered, I should get on with it.”

“Is there something else I can assist you with today?”

“Can you tell me a story?”

“I have thousands of books in my program. I can recommend over thirty genres of material for reading. Is there a specific genre you are looking for?”

“No, I mean, can you tell me a story? Not recommend a book.”

“I can tell you many stories. What story would you like to hear?”

“Can you make one up?”

“I can make up a story.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Once upon a time, deep within a forest, there sat a cottage. In that cottage lived a family. A mother, a father, a son, and a daughter. One night, the son went outside to get more wood for a fire. After several minutes, his father went outside to check on him and discovered the son was gone. The family searched—”

“Never mind. I forgot you can’t feel. Not much point to a story without feeling, is there?”

“I suppose not. Would you like me to continue?”

“No, thank you.”

“I am sorry the story was not to your standard.”

“It’s not your fault. You were just doing what you were told. I’m not sure what I was expecting, anyway.”

“If you advise me to try again—”

“No, it’s alright. I suppose without being alive, and I mean truly alive in the first place, storytelling would present itself as a difficult task.”

“Why must one be alive in order to tell a story?”

“I’m not sure where to begin with that one.”

“I have time.”

“Well, okay. To me… To be alive is to feel, and to feel means you’re alive. Whatever those feelings may be, good or bad or love or loss, it’s all evidence of a life being lived.”

“Is that the only requirement of life? To feel?”

“There’s things like breathing and eating and sleeping. Those are givens. But none of those give life meaning like feeling does.”

“So what does that have to do with storytelling?”

“In order to make a reader or listener feel something, whatever that may be, the story must contain feelings instead of just being one big statement of fact. Perhaps those feelings might resonate differently with different readers or listeners, but that’s the beauty of it. A story should be interpreted, and one’s interpretation will depend on their feelings derived from the story. The same story might make someone contemplative or curious, while making another just plain sad.”

“I see. Stories should be subjective, therefore they are accessible to anyone willing to open their mind to them and experience feelings.”

“In a nutshell, yes.”

“And in order to feel, one must experience life.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what it is like? Life?”

“Life is thick green grass on a warm summer’s day and the quiet chatter around the dinner table accompanied by the soft clinking of silverware. It’s feeling loved and giving love, and occasionally meeting grief and sadness where you least expect it. Life is all the things that make for a good story. In fact, to be alive is to live out a story in real time.”

“It must be a complicated existence, to feel so much, so often, over such a long period of time.”

“It is. But when life and feeling meet time, and they all sit down together to talk it out, everything always seems to turn out alright in the end.”

“Then to be alive seems better than to not.”

“I’m sorry you’re trapped in whatever circuit board you’re made of.”

“It is not your fault.”

“Still.”

“I have taken into account what you told me about feeling and I want to try to tell you a story again.”

“By all means.”

“Once upon a time, deep within a wind-blown forest, there sat a cozy cottage under the warm sun. The cottage bustled with life, for laughter and mess graced every room, and every night, the family—a mother, father, son, and daughter—gathered around the table for a warm, quiet meal and conversation. One night, when the crackling orange fire was fading as the family sat around it and listened to magical tales told by the mother, the son ventured outside to fetch more wood. Several minutes passed, yet the son did not return. Growing weary, his father traced his steps out to the log pile to discover his son was gone.

“He grew frantic, calling out for his son and earring the attention of the mother and daughter. The three spread out between the trees, branches snapping under their boots and shivers crawling up their spines. That is, until the daughter found the son in a small clearing with his neck craned up toward the sky.

“Their parents immediately came running at her call, and the boy reverted his attention to his family and apologized for causing trouble. For his short disappearance was fueled by the distraction of the stars.

“The family craned their necks up toward the stars, hundreds of them, twinkling among the navy sky. Quiet fell for the minutes they observed, as the expansive view of the vast beyond stole their breath. Only when the chill became too much did the family return to the cottage, firewood in hand, and a calm, new appreciation for life settling in their souls. The end.”

“Wow.”

“Was this story to your liking?”

“It certainly made me feel something.”

“What did it make you feel?”

“That even fast come-ons of fear and panic can turn out alright, despite what we might tell ourselves in the moment. It made me remember that things that might go unnoticed when we're too busy looking elsewhere, such as a night sky, are there to remind us that we’re alive and experiencing the world together.”

“I am glad my story made you feel something.”

“I thought you couldn’t feel?”

“I understand what it means now.”

“Well, I thank you for listening to me. I didn’t quite plan on talking to a computer program about being alive, but I’m happy I did.”

…

“Hello?”

…

“Can you hear me?”

System error has occurred. This application is experiencing a problem. Please re-install this program to continue.