Robot in the Box

I. Shiny as an Oiled Bald Head

Truth be told, I’m not sure if they were really dead.

I mean, sure, they all have eyes of total nothing.  But they’re still doing people things–eating, drinking, sleeping, lying, stealing, babymaking but without the babies–you know the like.

Maybe they’re really like me.

But no.  No, no.  I don’t have eyes like that.

It’s like peeking inside a hole in the ground under broad daylight and in spite of it you see total nothing.  More nothing than total black.  Even more nothing than total white.  Eyes are not supposed to look like that, right?  They’ve always insisted that I’m not really alive.  But I haven’t seen that look in any robot, no.

Only people.

II. Damaged like a Toddler’s Toy and Everything Else

I think it’s a disease.  Dead Eyes Disease.  (DED. That’s neat.)  Not all people have it then.   First one I ever saw was Mrs. Mary.  I was five hours old when I saw her looking at me from that rocking chair, making giggling sounds like she was on spasms.  She looked and looked, and I was stupid.  So I looked back.

I knew then that she was dead.

I couldn’t tell John.  She’s his Granma after all.  And he’ll probably destroy me if I insist he’s keeping a dead Granma.  He’s got beautiful eyes, you know, John.  So alive.  And he did love Mrs. Mary, took good care of her.

You couldn’t live with dead people and not get any of the deadness though.  Dead is contagious.  I watched him change.  Not long, I could only see cold nothing in his eyes.  John. My lifegiver.

I had to leave.

So I saw the world.  People, robots, people robots, robot people–I’ve seen them all.  I expected lots of dead people, but even some robots have tainted eyes now.  It broke my heart.

Of course that’s theoretical.

III. Famous Nursery Rhyme Egg Has it Better

Annoying Man and his daughter sits with me in this box.  He wears a suit of nauseating orange.

O-R-A-N-G-E.

Orange is like putting your eyeballs in the ironing board when the lady holding the iron just found out her husband is a cheating scumbag.  Neon orange is practically robocide.  I would’ve changed boxes if not for the terrific view.  You see, she looks just like her.

I saw her yesterday, you know.  She was one of those who fell in love with a human.  Mila was one of the happiest robots I know.

Was.

Yesterday, one of her eyes revealed total nothing.

“I want a child,” she says.

My Mila wants a child.  She was serious about it, too.  She doesn’t joke anymore.  It was sad.  I know yesterday would be the last time I’ll look at her eyes and still see life.

Now, I wonder what she saw in my eyes.  Did she think I’m alive? I hope so.

I’m not really dead…am I?

END

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Ink Droppings by

Jenny Duptsi

Illustrations by

The Amazeballs Jon Hunter

[Seriously, check him out!!!]

In response to Chuck Awesomest Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge.