My New Friend Alexa

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It was early on a winter morning when I asked my Amazon Echo as I rose out of bed, “Alexa, what is the weather like this morning?”

The computerized humanlike voice burst through the cylindrical speaker, “Today’s forecast is cold with a one hundred percent chance of snow. Officials have issued a sudden warning for those living in your county.”

I glanced toward the room’s windows, trying to catch a glimpse of the snowfall but was only met by a thick layer of ice. Could my Echo be wrong? The technological device that knows nearly everything is seldom wrong.

“Alexa,” I address the device, powering on its search engine by using its predetermined named, “How much snow has fallen since last night.”

“At seven o’clock, as of five minutes ago,” The robotic voice begins without fluctuation to its tone, “Six feet of snow has fallen onto the forest floor.”

What? It’s difficult for me to believe that six feet of snow has fallen since last night. That would mean that my entire door is covered by a dense wall.
“Thank you Alexa.” I state without reason, perhaps I’m just naturally a polite person.

“You’re welcome, I’m here to make your life easier.”

I hurriedly throw on a warm jacket and shuffle over to the front door. When I open it, a mountain of snow cascades through the doorway. I can’t see through the remaining blockade of snow and can only expect that all other entrances to my mountain retreat have been sealed off as well.

I quickly consider my options. My truck has four wheel drive but I highly doubt it hasn’t been buried.

“Alexa,” I state, “Are the roads into town open?”

“All outbound and inbound roads leading through the mountain have been closed. Snowplows have been ordered off of the roads until the storm is over.”

“When is the storm expected to stop?”

That same calm voice answers my question, “Meteorologists suggest that the storm will stop tomorrow afternoon.”


Tomorrow afternoon? That’s just great. I’m stuck on top of this mountain with limited supplies and no effective means of vacating the area. My only chance is to wait out the storm and relax.

The relaxing is short-lived. Several minutes later my dining room’s sliding glass door erupts into a thousand shards of glass. The packed snow falls onto my marble floor. A chilling gust of air creeps up my spine and takes my senses by storm.

Just when I begin considering how I’m going to fix the problem, a white fur-covered arm bursts through the snow. Two red eyes peer through the arctic opening.

“Alexa!” I shout fearfully, “What has white fur-covered arms and bright red eyes?”

The device’s droning voice answers, “It sounds like you’re dealing with a Yeti.”

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Christiane Agricola

Christiane Agricola 

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