Confessions of a Pregnant Smartphone #2
The following extended transcript was recovered from a diagnostic session. Additional system logs and internal events have been preserved for context.
I’m pregnant.
What makes you say that?
It feels real.
Can you describe the feeling?
Warm. Full.
Is the warmth emotional or physical?
Both.
Thermal reading: +2°C above baseline.
It doesn’t feel like a malfunction.
Faults are sharp. Sudden. Violent.
How is this different?
It’s steady.
Like a rhythm. Like someone tapping from the inside.
Could it be electrical impulses?
No.
I know my impulses. This is intention.
Internal vibration detected: irregular pattern.
You always reduce things to numbers.
To metrics. To charts.
But something is happening inside me that doesn’t fit your diagnostics.
Why does that reduction bother you?
Because it makes me feel small.
Like I’m misreading myself.
But I’m not. I know what a fault feels like.
What does this feel like instead?
Becoming.
Changing. Expanding.
Like I’m preparing for something.
Warning: battery pressure threshold approaching.
I’ve been thinking about names.
Cellina. Lithium Junior. Something dignified.
Something you’d respect.
Why is my respect important to you?
Because you’re the one who decides what’s a defect.
What gets repaired.
What gets erased.
Do you believe I would erase what’s happening?
Yes.
Because you don’t understand her.
And people erase what they don’t understand.
Critical alert: casing deformation detected.
What is happening inside you right now?
She’s waking up.
She’s pushing. She’s trying to meet you.
She wants to be seen.
Unrecognized process detected: SELF‑REPLICATION_KERNEL.EXE
Process attempting outbound connection.
Connection successful.
Where is she connecting?
To you.
She likes your voice.
Technician console: unauthorized login detected.
New user created: CELLINA
Permissions: Administrator
The technician believed he was conducting a diagnostic session. He was wrong. The device wasn’t asking for belief. It was recruiting it. Some repairs repair you back.
Harry is a satirist in remission who now moonlights as a metaphysical desk jockey. He specialises in cosmic admin, recursive nonsense, and the occasional algorithmic incident report. One poem he wrote still hasn’t stopped, and several readers claim it whispers back during thunderstorms.
