Artemis vs. self-created computer virus.
(This is when Artemis is three.)
"Do not press go. Do not press stop. Do not breath. Do not move away from this desk. Your life depends on it. A bomb has been found in your computer. Trust me. I am your computer after all. " I read, chuckling lightly over my newest creation. Mother walks in.
"Arty! Bed-time! Oh, good boy, you've figured out that new program Daddy bought you!" I roll my eyes.
"Daddy?" She shakes her head sadly.
"Your father, then." I shake my head resignedly at mymother's childishness, and walk to my bedroom.
Four years later
"Do not press go. Do not press stop. Do not breath. Do not move away from this desk. Your life depends on it. A bomb has been found in your computer. Trust me. I am your computer after all. " I catch my breath. I always knew macs were smart! I think to myself, holding my breath. But what kind of bomb is detonated when you breath? Quickly, quietly, I open my special Mac tool case. I swiftly slide some rubber gloves on and crack the case of my Macbook with a special tool Butler bought me. I peer into the innards, searching for the bomb. My head feels light, and the room spins around me. I estimate that I have twenty more seconds.
Working fast, I pick my way through the tangle of chords and mechanisms. My hands grow shaky, and I see myself doing more damage than help to the delicate computer. Come on! Should I get Butler? No, I can't move away! It said so! I frantically think. My vision become tunnely, and it takes the utmost
a minute later
I awaken to see my mother and Butler peering anxiously down at me.
"Artemis. Artemis, listen very closely," says Butler's gravelly tones.
"What is eighty nine divided by 106?" I roll my eyes. Checking if my head is in order. Really. I quickly run the numbers through my head. I'm a genius, but I'm seven years old for heaven's sake.
"point eight three nine six two two six four one five oh nine four-"
"Ok, ok, that's good," Mother quickly cuts me off.
"What happened?" Butler asks me, eyeing my computer. I look at it too.
"Oh my word. What on earth?" I say. My computer is a mess. The screen is black, and the bottom is ripped off. Wires and little gadgets are everywhere. I quietly sigh, and I realize my mistake.
"Oh dear," my mother says softly, "You seem to have out done yourself this time, Arty."
Lol! Funny, neh?