Thursday, November 18, 2010

The Machinists's Robot

Even in the recesses of his metal-clad, deftly riveted brain, he knew today was the day. He drew a satisfyingly deep breath of pre-methanized oxygen, as deep as his turgid lungs would allow, and he started walking.

The message he left for his machinist was vague, purposefully so, without clues or underlying meaning, to give pause to any motivation to follow him. Enough time for him to make tracks. Hit the road. Get out of town...

The front door slid open as it recognized his presence, and he peeked left and right before stepping outside. His hard rubber-treaded soles made a crunching noise across the leaves on the wooden landing as he took each whirring step slowly and deliberately. This was the first time he had ventured out past the railing without a map, so he trepidatiously proceeded across the yard, and to the old asphalt roadway beyond.

He wondered how long the alert signal would remain dark before it illuminated and revealed his position to his machinist, and how much time he would have before distance made it fade. He had carefully planned out the escape based on his machinist's early morning routines, and fortunately they hadn't changed that morning. The subroutine had kicked in when the last door locked behind the machinist at 7:47am, and the restraining pads released their magnetic hold; yes, he knew he was free, and he could do as he pleased.

The loud, old brown dog, usually chained to a metal post on the other side of the fence, was nowhere to be seen, so he took advantage of the quiet moment. Creeping slowly down behind the hedge, he waited for the early morning traffic to subside.

Time passed slowly and was starting to become slightly anxious about the situation when the last metro bus rumbled by, and the street grew silent.

"Hopefully that was the end of traffic for the morning," he thought to himself.

"Most of the commuters have commuted, and the morning moms have settled down to soaps, ironing, or washing."

No comments:

Post a Comment