The exercise:
Gimme what ya got for: the robot.
Sometimes I'm quite surprised by the prompts that I haven't managed to use in the last three years. This is one of those times.
Today went reasonably well. I harvested for our local orders in the morning, handled the pickups in the afternoon, and got some weeding and spraying done this evening.
It was a little lonely though.
Mine:
He sits in the corner,
Unused, broken, and rusting;
Ignored quite completely,
Except for the odd dusting.
His battery is dead,
Been that way a real long time;
But I can't help feeling
He's watching beneath that grime.
I know it's quite silly,
He has performed his last show;
But each time I pass by,
I make sure to say hello.
12 comments:
You know, if you adopted Mr. Wriggles then you'd have a pet to talk to while Kat's not there. It might not seem so lonely then :)
It sounds like you've got plenty of work to keep you busy though, but I know that it's always the moments when the work is done that you realise there's just you around.
Poor robot, that's quite a moving little poem by the end!
The robot
The invasion had not gone according to plan. The humans, weak, soggy meat-based life-forms were supposed to have surrendered after the first couple of days worth of fighting, when they realised the superiority of the invading forces. Instead, they'd waited patiently for it to start raining and then responded. Blue sparks had fountained into the air as rain shorted out vital components and weapons and legs stopped working. Crop-dusters sprayed salt over the robot armies, and the rain dissolved it, carrying inside toughened carapaces that were impact- and laser-proof but sadly rusted with an enthusiasm that was just disturbing.
The invasion faltered, and failed in just two long, wet, briny days.
And now this, the ultimate indignity; being repurposed as a teaching aid for a classroom! The Dalek seethed inwardly, plotting a hideous death for all the children in front of it, but instead of blasting them into a smouldering cloud of fleshy fragments, it pointed at the board and trumpeted "Interpolate!"
Well, I'm sure this'll make you really appreciate Kat when she comes back! A very melancholy poem, but very fun to read! And I was inspired for yesterday's prose by one from some comment in your archives about a children's book about the 12 Egyptian things from the bible and little kids squishing frogs.
And Greg, I really loved the twist at the end of your prose! It was unexpected and funny at the same time!
The Robot
RobotsRUs have been selling robots since 2100. They've sold over 50 billion of them, because they know what their customers want. A robot to do chores, to do their homework, to cook for them, etc. They always manufactured what was in demand.
But now they've gone too far. They thought it would be fine and dandy to give these robots personalities, to make them more relatable to their human masters.
"You want a robot? Why don't you take this robot that always brightens your day!" Then you take it home, and its constant cheeriness drives you to insanity, and you're sent away, to live in isolation.
"How about this robot that has worse problems than you? It's sure to make you feel better about yourself!" You take it home, and its manic depression annoys you so much, your depression becomes worse than its had ever been. This example is best displayed in the case of the robot butler from the Heart of Gold starship.
Really, they thought this would help, but all it's going to do is make them lose all business forevermore. They need to learn their limits. RobotsRUs must be destroyed!
***
Well, much different than it was in my head...
Marc - very melancholy
Greg - as Andrew said, love the twist, so much foreboding for the future revolt.
Andrew - I like the idea - very different take on what robots can do for us.
He kisses her on the cheek. Takes off his coat and neatly hangs it in the closet. Shoes off. Slippers on. The kids run up. He pats their heads. Sits. Eats his steak. Drinks one scotch. Washes the dishes and takes out the trash. He watches one inning of the Yankees game. Goes upstairs. Kisses the sleeping kids on their foreheads. Brushes teeth. Up, down, spit, repeat. T-shirt. Boxers. Lies down. Reads four pages. Kisses wife. Good night, I love you, sweet dreams. Sleeps. Doesn’t dream. Wakes up. Goes.
Radically cool and different
Out of the ordinary
Brand-new. I like it. But wait!
Outrageous! It's
Trying to kill me!
Friday has arrived the week I have survived.
My dancing shoes I put on one foot at a time.
This is the night I will shine.
At the club I have arrived, to the dance floor I must go.
What to expect my friends do not know.
I move my arms up and down and my head side to side.
The dance of the Robot has survived.
Struck by a tremendous weight, square in my chest, I rise to leave. She says nothing, does nothing. Sits on the log and stares out over the water with her smirking, prideful eyes. I remain silent as well. I could say so many terrible and destructive things, but none worth the price of my precious tears. Birds sing cheerfully as I begin the journey home, alone. Jealousy and contempt shoot into my veins at their joy. Breezes gently lift my hair and hurl dust into my frowning, defeated eyes. I start to feel hot. My friend's house is drawing near. I feel his emotions from outside, his happiness and relaxed life radiant. I am not going home just yet.
My feet have never moved so quickly, my eyebrows dropped so low, my arms never pumped so hard, striking the air like dueling rams.
By the time I reach the park, my feet have been abused, burned raw by the black pavement. The grass is a welcome change as I decelerate to a swift flight, then a jog, and finally able to walk again. I have been broken before, but never to this point of utter demolishment. What is emotion? An untamed campfire, welcoming the shivering with its seductive warmth, and only then snapping its wings wide and encasing the fools in its inferno. Nothing but pure agony.
A beast begins a war cry inside me. Soft at first, a lullaby. Before I know what has occured, the war cry has risen to a silent scream, throughout my being. I no longer want to be sad. I relinquish my emotions. I no longer want to be human.
The robot is born.
-----------------------------------
Maybe a bit dramatic, but... I think it came out well.
Greg - I'd rather talk to myself, thanks.
Lots of great lines in there, though my favorite as to be "... carrying inside toughened carapaces that were impact- and laser-proof but sadly rusted with an enthusiasm that was just disturbing."
Andrew - I vaguely remember that comment. Somehow I'm pretty sure that was Greg's take on a prompt.
Isn't it fun when what you end up writing is what you expected to? I like it, anyway :)
David - great take on the prompt. Rather creepy, actually.
Morganna - that's the problem with those damn robots, always trying to kill us off.
Anon - ha, awesome :)
Denin - I think it came out very well. Very effectively done. Nothing wrong with a bit of drama every now and again :)
The Robot
I run. I must hide from him...the robot. My invention is out of control! I have to stop him, but how? I know I'll wet him. Oh yeah, I forgot - made him water proof. Doesn't matter, I'll wait for him to run out of batteries. No, nothing will work. Why me? Hopefully he'll find someone else to annoy. I'll just go home, I've had enough for today. The next day the robot was gone, disappeared, vanished no-one knew where he was but some-one will find him soon.
Miss B - oh, I definitely want that continued! Where has the robot wandered off to, and what's it up to?
This is the continued piece of writing on the robot:
I can't wait I have to find him...the robot. He scares me. He is life threatening. He could hunt down my little sister, or hurt my best friend. What if he kills. Oh no, the police found him. I shouldn't have carved my name and address into it, but I did. They're
knocking on my door. I'm scared. I open the door. There stands the robot figiting. I'm worried. What if it uses its laser eyes on me. I'll be dead. The officer wants me to destroy the robot. I nod. I have to do it, it's my responsibility...the robot. I've done it. I've broken the robot. It's destroyed.
I love your story on the robot its funny and scary you are a pro.
Thanks Miss TM!:)
Thats so nice
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