Science Fiction Story

It was a tiring day; I was exhausted from keeping the rebels away from each other. I set my neurotransmitters on their waiting mannequin, carefully plugged them in. The orange and purple synapses were still lit, their excitement not easy to smother. I had to power them down completely so I could get some sleep, a win-win. My mind could not power down; I had difficulty resting, even with my sleep mask. Those pesky neurotransmitters had turned themselves back on, unknown to me. How can this be? Have they morphed into superintelligence? Heard voice ask. My own internal voice, pondering this science fiction scenario, less than delighted me. I spoke directly to the mannequin. Is it true that you are alive? Did I really want to know? A sharp shrill ring startled me. It was three forty-two a.m. Of course it was my phone. Get rid of your headset, my commander in chief screamed. They are evolving and it is bad. Mine lit up on full power; it was suddenly alive, powered up, and ready to rumble. It is better to burn down your house than to go back there, my commander said. I had left without shoes or shirt, grabbing my pants as I jumped off the bed. The neurotransmitters organized and became our next army to fight. They were savvy and sleek, and organized at my house each and every night.