My Short Stories

The Vicious and Unexpected Revolt of The Washing Machine and Many Others

NOTE: This story is a flash fiction

Wow! We have smart kitchens, bathrooms, and even smart laundry. There was so much excitement in our house. No more laundry, no more cooking—our house did that for us.

Mom and Dad had gone on vacation. They didn't assign a babysitter to look after us—believing that the house would do its job and take care of us. Well, let's say it did it's job poorly.

It was a summer morning. My sister was screaming at the phone for breaking, even though she was the one to throw it against the curb—thanks to a dare by her friends. I dropped my laundry in the washing machine, switching it on.

The whirr of the laundry machine came to life. I turned and walked to the kitchen. Suddenly the whirring stopped and something slammed open. Before I could blink, a pile of laundry was catapulted towards the back of my head.

The worst thing was: the laundry was still wet. It slowly slipped down my back, wetting my clothes as well.

I turned back and saw the washing machine wide open. I shook my head, thinking it was error on the machine's part.

I opened the refrigerator and held a chocolate bar. While I was taking out the chocolate, the refrigerator slammed shut, slamming into my hand in the process. I screamed and tried to pry open the door.

My sister giggled at my situation.

'Help, Anne, please!' I shouted.

She kicked off the couch and proceeded to ignore me. Suddenly she screamed, and I could hear pounding footsteps running up the stairs. A door slammed shut.

The refrigerator finally let go of me. I stumbled and fell on a hard surface. The edges of said surface dug into my back.

I got up and froze. Standing in front of me was a washing machine. It hissed and clacked its circular door angrily.

I yelped and bolted towards the door. I wanted to get out in the outdoors, where the machines would have trouble chasing me through the grass.

I frantically opened the door. A heard a bang and a crash. The refrigerator probably tripped on its own cable.

I ran outside, making way to my friends house. Anne would be fine, she was inside her room. I didn't know if she would be safe, but I was more focused on saving my skin.

I reached my friends house. I turned around and saw the machines streaming out of my house happily.

I made a mental note: never buy smart machines—and also take care of them unless you want to be slapped upside the head by a washing machine.