Zed's Dead

He stood up from his chair, slowly, to address the room.

"My name's Zed, and I'm an alcoholic."

There was a slight pause, and a murmur of appreciation.

"I have caused a lot of pain, not only to myself, but to all those who love me. And I can only apologise for all the hurt. It wasn't me - this is me now - and I wouldn't do those things. Please understand. I am not asking for forgiveness, just understanding, I take full responsibility for all my actions."

The room was silent. They were listening, and understanding, and feeling for Zed.

"If I could take it all back, I would do things so differently. I've missed so many moments, which could've been beautiful, memories that I could cherish and smile every time I think of them. Instead, all I have is darkness and shadows, and evil deeds that haunt me."

They were all seated in a circle - typical of such meetings - with the therapist seated amongst them. He stood out because he was the only one with a terminal on his lap.

"Go on Zed." he said.

"I black out, and I wake up, and something awful has happened. I know it, but I can't remember what, and, days later, it's only the flashbacks that remind me. Then it's too late. What can I do? Saying sorry only works immediately after the event. Nobody truly accepts an apology when you're sober."

"That's not necessarily so Zed.” said the therapist.

"You can see it in their faces, the trust has gone. It's as if I've broken something valuable, and hidden the truth from them, until a time when I think it's ok to tell them."

"It's always a good thing to say sorry, no matter when. It still shows awareness, they will always appreciate that. But if you say you can't remember and you're basing your apology on a 'flashback', did it really happen? Do they tell you what you did? Are they angry with you?” said the therapist.

The keys on his terminal keyboard clicked as he typed.

"More afraid, I guess. They never say, and I never ask. I'm too embarrassed, and afraid as well, I mean, what if it's something so bad ..."

"Do you have nightmares Zed?"

"No, just blackouts, and then snippets of dreadful memories of what happened. Nightmares happen when you're asleep. This is real - it's what I've done - and I can't do anything to stop it."

"Do you remember even drinking?"

"No. But I remember the craving, and the sickness before."

"What if I said, you can't drink Zed?"

The room was hushed.

"What good will that do? I need help, you can't just tell me to stop drinking; I need to go through withdrawal. You need to tackle the physical symptoms first."

"No, what if I said - you are not capable of drinking? You have no physical means to ingest liquid. I mean, do you even know who you are?"

"My name's Zed and I'm an alc...” said Zed, and promptly blacked out.

His eyes closed in slow motion. His head bowed. His shoulders slumped, and his arms dangled, as he stood rigid.

The room stared.

"Oh dear.” said the therapist - nonchalantly - as if he knew all along.

He typed in his terminal...

"Power supply fault. Subject attributes power failure - 'blackouts' - to alcoholism.

Recommendations:

1. Diagnostics, verification of failure, and repair
2. Further therapy”

"Next." said the therapist

Zed stood still.

"My name's bartholomew, and I'm a sex addict." said the next robot.