America's North Shore Journal

On an island in the middle of a bright blue sea sat a house. A very special house. It was programmed for any contingency. It could handle any emergency. Overhead, a network of satellites kept watch and sent messages back and forth through the dark depths of space. Every evening, as the sun went down, the house wheeled the bed to the window facing west. The sun warmed the room as it slowly slipped into the sea and the stars appeared in a blaze of glorious points of light across the night. Shortly, the bed was wheeled back from the window and the curtains drew themselves closed. The house had done this for many evenings. It did not count them, though it kept count. It merely performed its programming and waited. The bed, too, … Read entire article »