A short story I wrote. Word count is 864
It stood motionless and destitute under the pounding rain from high above. A dreary, battered eye moved back and forth, locked in a pattern engrained in its memory from long ago. Long before it was thrust out into the cold world, and much longer before automaton were standard back-alley fair.
After all, what could it do? There was no place that would take it in, and no customer that would use its services. A false switch had caused two worlds to be melded in one cataclysmic accident, and from it spawned an abomination. That abomination was this massive hulk of rusting metal, moving solely on ancient code and the knowledge that it must find a purpose.
A purpose that sadly eluded it from when it was created to as it stands now. People shifted by, as lonely as the raindrops that fell from overhead. Suddenly, the singular red eye snapped to attention. A potential customer approached. Dressed in a fur coat with a bright yellow umbrella, the man carried a large purse, bulging at the sides with what might be money. The robot took one colossal step out from it’s hiding place. Towering over what now seemed to be an insignificantly small man, it let loose a powerful, echoing proposition from it’s deep-booming voice box.
“Hey. Baby. Want. A. Good. Time?”
The man stumbled backwards as the robot’s steel talons had actually hit him. Shaking in a mixture of surprise, fear, and confusion, he cowered on the ground. Raising his hands to shield himself, he tried desperately to ward off certain doom with his frail fleshy palms. The robot took a few steps towards him, in what appeared to be a form of primitive erotic sashay. It’s lumbering footsteps shook the ground below it.
“Come. On. Honey. It. Will. Be. Fun.”
As the robot drew nearer and nearer, the man’s instinct took it upon itself to save him from death. Flinging his umbrella high into the air and clutching his purse to his chest, he fled like a stricken rabbit from a coyote. His girlish scream racked the dreary neighborhood, as several passer-bye gave him peculiar looks.
The robot looked down at his new possession. The umbrella lay open, it’s bright yellow untarnished by the events that took place. Picking it up, it became his sole friend and solace in an uncomprehending and lonely world.
No one knows what created it, and no one knows why the machines happened to be mixed up as they were on that particular day. Machines drilled and plastered, moving parts frantically along the conveyor belt, trying desperately to make an invisible deadline. Hundreds of robots churned out their mechanical brethren, controlled by invisible strings by a massive central computer.
Suddenly, an error. A motion. A flash. A transfer of thousands of bytes of code, so fast that in the blink of an eye an entire entity had been borne, and with it, the melding of two of humankind’s oldest professions, prostitution and construction, into one singular, coexisting metal habitat.
And with this calamity, it is forced to roam the streets, searching endlessly for it’s cause, a medium between both worlds where it can operate with impunity, a place where it can belong. For years, it wandered, hiding in alleys and under streets, an ever-pressing sense of urgency rising in it’s mechanical brain, rushing to and fro under a dazzling array of street lights and stars. As it roamed farther and farther away from the city of its birth, it met strange new creatures, all of which fled from it’s robotic call of carnal love. Deeper and deeper into the wild it wandered, always alone, always separate from a world that had both birthed and abandoned it.
For a time, all hope seemed lost, until after following a dirty and polluted stream, it happened upon the now deserted Big Al’s Trash Heap. Aimlessly, desperate for the touch of something, anything that may complete the siren call of its programming. As it entered the rusty gates, they swung loosely on their hinges in protest, yet in their weakened state, they were unable to stop its relentless progress.
Entering the bone yard of the various stages of industrialization from ages long ago, it could not help but be amazed at the wondrous world that now lay sprawled in front of it. Venturing deeper into the wreckage of humanity, it happened upon an old car, beat up and disheveled, but to it, it was beautiful.
“I. Want. You. So. Badly.”
It called, expecting the same response it had heard a dozen times before. But this time, it was different. Rather than a scream and a mad dash for safety, the object of its affection simply lay there, expectantly.
“Let. Us. Do. It. Right. Now. Right. Here.”
Still the car sat, waiting. The robot moved forward, timidly, and touched metal to metal. Stroking it gently, it moved close. Gripping it with it’s powerful diamond-tipped claws, it heard no shriek of fear, or scream of pain. And so it began what it had been instructed to do since birth, as it finally fulfilled its programming, forever locked in an eternal robotic embrace of love.
