Word Processor of the Gods

by Stephen King

  LOADOVERLOADOVERLOADOVERLOADOVERLOADOVERLOADOVER-LOAD

  There was another pop, and then an explosion from the CPU. Flames belched out of the cabinet and then died away.

  Richard leaned back in his chair, shielding his face in case the screen should implode. It didn't. It only went dark. He sat there, looking at the darkness of the screen.

  CANNOT TELL FOR SURE ASK AGAIN LATER.

  "Dad?"

  He swiveled around in his chair, heart pounding so hard he felt that it might actually tear itself out of his chest.

  Jon stood there, Jon Hagstrom, and his face was the same but somehow different -- the difference was subtle but noticeable. Perhaps, Richard thought, the difference was the difference in paternity between two brothers. Or perhaps it was simply that that wary, watching expression was gone from the eyes, slightly overmagnified by thick spectacles (wire-rims now, he noticed, not the ugly industrial horn-rims that Roger had always gotten the boy because they were fifteen bucks cheaper).

  Maybe it was something even simpler: that look of doom was gone from the boy's eyes.

  "Jon?" he said hoarsely, wondering if he had actually wanted something more than this. Had he? It seemed ridiculous, but he supposed he had. He supposed people always did. "Jon, it's you, isn't it?"

  "Who else would it be?" He nodded toward the word processor. "You didn't hurt yourself when that baby went to data heaven, did you?"

  Richard smiled. "No. I'm fine."

  Jon nodded. "I'm sorry it didn't work. I don't know what ever possessed me to use all those cruddy parts." He shook his head. "Honest to God I don't. It's like I had to. Kid's stuff."

  "Well," Richard said, joining his son and putting an arm around his shoulders, "you'll do better next time, maybe."

  "Maybe. Or I might try something else."

  "That might be just as well."

  "Mom said she had cocoa for you, if you wanted it."

  "I do," Richard said, and the two of them walked together from the study to a house into which no frozen turkey won in a bingo coverall game had ever come. "A cup of cocoa would go down just fine right now."

  "I'll cannibalize anything worth cannibalizing out of that thing tomorrow and then take it to the dump," Jon said.

  Richard nodded. "Delete it from our lives," he said, and they went into the house and the smell of hot cocoa, laughing together.