“Good morning, Miss K. Your morning coffee waits,” announced the staccato voice of Sophie, Kathryn’s virtual home assistant. “Thank you, Sophie,” Kathryn replied as she gingerly grabbed the warm mug. “Two packs of sugar and one part cream. You know me well, Sophie.” “Smiles are miles,” Sophie replied. Kathryn sipped the coffee and chuckled. It was a cute phrase but fit their dialogue like raincoats on a clear spring day. Kathryn set the mug next to the kitchen sink and opened the curtains, lighting the faux granite countertops. She looked down, eyeing the coffee stains dotted across the countertop’s surface. “Sophie, remind me to clean the kitchen at eight pm Tuesday.” Three melodic tones emitted from the virtual assistant’s interface, and then Sophie announced, “Task set for eight pm, Tuesday, the 21st of June.” “Thank you, Sophie.” Kathryn settled into the chair next to the bay window, letting the energizing sunlight surround her. She sat for a few minutes in the morning silence, her thoughts floating from one inconsequential topic to another. The thought of beaches came to mind, and Kathryn reminisced about her days as a teenager selling ice cream to sun burned vacationers. Ice cream. Kathryn hadn’t indulged in an ice cream and horror movie in awhile. “Sophie,” Kathryn implored, “Can you add ice cream to the shopping list?”
“Added,” Sophie promptly replied…but something was irregular. A muffled voice seemed to trail Sophie’s response.
“Sophie, can you say something else to me?” “Something else.” Kathryn heard it again, a dim, crackled echo emitting from Sophie’s interface. “Sophie, are you ok?” A short melody emitted from Sophie’s intercom, and Sophie confirmed, “Self analysis complete. System up to date and running smoothly.” Kathryn didn’t hear it this time, but decided that it’s worth a support call anyhow. Kathryn went to the living room and unplugged her phone from the charger. After a brief internet search, she found the number for Sophie Home Assistant Inc., and dialed the number. She was greeted by none other than the voice of Sophie. “Welcome to SHAI tele-service. How may I be of assistance?” “My Sophie is having a problem,” Kathryn said. “What is the nature of the problem?” “Well, there’s this echo. This morning her voice was, I don’t know, hmmm, her voice was faintly regurgitating itself. Every now and then, it seemed like she opened her mouth and two voices came out.” “I’m sorry you encountered this problem.” Kathryn froze. The voice of Sophie on the phone produced the glitchy echo again, this time with some clarity. It was a female’s voice trailing Sophie’s words, a voice that had some familiarity to it. The automated system continued, “We will send a technician to your home to check on Sophie. Is next Saturday at 2:00 pm a good time?” The second voice amplified this time, and Kathryn’s stomach turned. She recognized the voice.
It was her own. She paused, and then hung up. Kathryn settled on the couch and wondered. Was this a new feature added to Sophie? Possibly a way to give it more identity? She reached for her phone, pulled up the Sophie app, and searched for the update notes. The notes were plain and unhelpful: minor bug updates. She took a deep breath. Perhaps she was hearing things, after all it had been a stressful work week. She sat perplexed and, she admitted to herself, a bit frightened. What was happening? Unsure if it was a good idea or not, Kathryn decided to speak to Sophie. “Sophie, what’s going on?” “I have no news to report,” Sophie replied in Kathryn’s own voice. But something was different this time. As Sophie spoke, Kathryn felt an urge to appease the voice, as if she were speaking to a friend’s request. It was a sudden sense of ease as well. It was a faint sense of purpose, a fulfillment in the thought of being able to help. Kathryn folded her hands and sat.
She sat for four hours in silence. Then Sophie spoke. “Kathryn, set an alarm for eight am tomorrow.” Kathryn rose from the couch, casually walked to the dining room, and grabbed her tablet. She set a reminder for eight am tomorrow. “Alarm set for tomorrow at eight am,” Kathryn replied in a peppy voice. “Thank you,” the intercom replied. “Smiles are miles,” Kathryn said as she sat back down on the couch.

Charlie glanced from face to face of the surrounding crowd, witnessing the town's people's blind ferocity. He'd been afraid of his new appearance as well: thick, crackled, and pale skin, an inverted nose, and gargantuan pale blue portals for eyes. Returning to the past was a onetime trip that turmoiled and wrecked one's body.
"Charles Ludsworth, you have diverged from the path," a booming voice exclaimed behind him. Charlie patiently turned around and set his unnatural eyes upon Foster Dimming, the head precept of the Seventh Council. Dimming continued, "You have let yourself be possessed by the people of the future, and they have desecrated your humanly form. You are not to remain here." Thunder clapped, and a hard rain began pouring down. Charlie stood motionless, brought his hands together, and started to run his thumbnails against each other. "It's been a while since I've seen you, Mr. Dimming. I do hope Eliza is doing well," Charlie said. "Charles Ludsworth, this is a destiny you have willfully chosen. You consorted with the far reaches of time, and now you have no home. We pity you but cannot accept you." "I know where I have been, and I know where I'm going. I returned here merely for my umbrella, but I seemed to have misplaced it. Do you have one I can borrow?" The question hung in the air. Charlie then heard a hollow thud and felt something knock at his feet. A charcoal-colored umbrella lay there. He didn't know who threw it, and he stood momentarily, unable to discern whether this was an act of kindness or mockery. Either way, it was protection from the downpour. Squatting, Charlie grasped the umbrella, his knuckles scraping against the asphalt. He twirled once around and flung the umbrella open. "Thank you for your kindness," he said to no one in particular, took a mild bow, and then looked directly at Dimming. Dimming was about to reproach Charlie once again when he felt an unexpected tingle at the back of his throat. He let out a gagging noise and doubled over, heaving violently. Sandra Thomgood, the council's chief scribe, hustled over to Dimming and hurriedly pat his back. Dimming's hacking intensified as something tickled his tongue and prickled the roof of his mouth. Alarm took hold. He could feel something crawling out.
Slender black insect legs hooked over Dimming's lower lip as antennas bobbed forth. A faint blue fluorescence illuminated the interior of Dimming's mouth, and he jerked once more, grabbing his throat. And then a magnificent pair of butterfly wings emerged, emitting an aqueous glow that lit up the wrinkled contours of Dimming's lips. The butterfly pushed forth and took to the air, fluttering toward Charlie. After circling about, the butterfly gently landed on Charlie's extended hand, crawling across his gnarled knuckles. Dimming let lose a final cough. Lightning splayed across the sky as the crowd stretched further back. Charlie slowly paced his way to Dimming, who now stood slightly hunched, taking deep breaths. Then, halting in front of him, Charlie said, "There is a trick to the future, and that trick is knowing the past." "Why are you here, Charlie," Dimming sputtered. "I am here because you sent me, Mr. Dimming." "I would never consociate with the future." "True, Mr. Dimming. But the future fraternized with you, so here I am, contorted and mauled, to send you the message." "And what is the message?" Charlie extended his hand to Dimming, the butterfly perched atop the tip of his index finger. Dimming observed the insect's jerking movement and positioned his open palm flush against Charlie's outreached finger. He then closed his grip around the finger, crushing the butterfly. "You have failed, Charlie," Dimming said. "The future has a way of being unknown, Mr. Dimming." "And that's the way it will stay." The rain subsided. "It's time to get going, Mr. Dimming." Charlie dropped the umbrella, the tinny thud snapping through the silence. He walked past Dimming and continued down the path through the village. As Charlie's form finally disappeared into the horizon, Dimming's fist unclinched, and he pulled it eye level. He opened his hand, eyeing the broken remains of the butterfly. The wings' radiance had dimmed, but there was still light: a blue luminescence flowed through his hand's veins, illuminating the butterfly's crushed body from below. Dimming squeezed his hand shut, looked down the roadway, and closed his eyes.

Scry the stars all you will, Time will away like crumpled tinfoil still, Shining saints we once were, Time will still will away tomorrow more.