ky-loves-writing

[ky-loves-writing]

A Little Robot Named CO-141N

Before getting into the story this short story was written for a creative writing class, so sorry for any bad formatting. Now into the story:

“B-514! We are going to be late, and you know what happens if we’re late again!”, yelled a steaming orange and blue robot. His blue eyes glowed illuminating his grimacing face.  

“They were just here! Hopefully, they didn’t get out”, B-514 said, rummaging through any hiding spot in the small room. The blue and orange robot throws himself under one of the two beds. Tapping the side of his head, strengthened the orange light of his eyes, chasing out the shadows from under the bed. Empty. Bumping his head on the way out, he sighed at his brother, “J1M-95 are you sure you didn’t leave the door open?”

J1M-95 huffed, crossing his arm, “I would have just let that thing out, not “accidentally” left the door open.”

“They’re not a thing” B-514’s lip trembled, eyes dimming as he held a small plush toy. J3R-50’s face softens, walking over to his shacking brother placing his orange hands on blue shoulders. Putting on a small smile leaning down to his brother’s height, “Have you checked under my desk yet?”

Spring to his feet, nearly knocking into his brother's chin, the blue and orange robot rushed over to the desk. Squealing when he pulled out a small gray, red-shouldered robot. Squeezing them, both of their metal creaked under pressure, causing a small round object to fall from the clutches of the small robot. “CO-141N! you can’t hide from me like that! Oh, you got crude in your dent,” said B-514 in a babied tone, setting CO-141N on the desk, holding their head still, and gently brushing out the dirt from the large dent on the right side of their head.

Red shoulders tense, eyes darting from the worried robot to the dropped object on the ground. Catching J1M-95's eye pacing back to the object and then back again. Grunting and stomping over to the object and swiftly picking it up. “Come on we’re going to be late for roll call,” he said placing the object in CO-141N’s hands and pushing his brother out the door.

Before rushing out himself, he picked CO-141N up and placed them gently on the ground. In a whisper, the little one said, “Than-thank you”. 

“Better not tell B-514 about this”, he said through his teeth before dashing out the door.  

As the door stuttered close, CO-141N took klutzy steps, tiptoeing over to the twins’ beds. Eyes locked on the round object; it had a round end with a point sticking out of it that was fitted snugly in a cup-like ball. Kneeling by the bed on the right side of the room, pulling out a small box labeled ‘Conan’s stuff”. Pouring the contents on the floor, picking up each object, depending on color, and placing each back in the box adding in the newest along with. Picking up the box and shoving it onto the bed, then proceeding to do the same with themself. Crawling to the table that sat between the bed, they stood on their tippy toes to barely be able to see out of the small rectangular window. The window was on the same level as the ground, and multi-colored legs marched across the grass, leaving the window and returning with different-sized tools and weapons. The fog grayed the legs' colors and their owners had to use the light of their eyes to guide them. A bigger brawny robot yelled at marchers, nearly dropping her cigar as she spat at two familiar-looking robots. The orange and blue one was trying to speak while the blue and orange one shook, eyes locked on the ground. “T-two blue, four-r gr-green, one r-r-red, one black, two p-pin-pink, one gray, and….”, they paused, rocking off to their toes.

Where were the two white ones? They questioned bringing their knuckle teeth. Sitting on the desk, leaning over to the right-side drawer. Two pens and two notebooks were tucked in it. One notebook was labeled Conan’s and the other was labeled J1M-95’s with the name Jamie poorly crossed out. Pulling out the Conan one, they flipped it open, and went through a list:

Marchers (sorry for the formatting of the list) 

Pink: M-114I         Blue: O-18P-18   MIA    Gray: D-1131-N MIA  

Pink: NO-221      Blue: B-514         White: AKR-113

Red: A-25-L9N   Purple: N-126-IR MIA White: Y126-H                           

Red: YU-2110I MIA          Purple: MI-512-E MIA

Orange: J1M-95 Jamie      Black: NIK-1514 MIA

Green: E-121Y                  Black: TA-9139 MIA

Green: C-1125B MIA        Black: ER-911-A   

Green: M-118L1               Gray: S-211-D MIA

Green: R-21T8                 Gray: NA-4251 MIA

Green: K-19-TO               Gray: C-918-O                  

Blue: AS-61                      Gray: BRI-78 MIA

            Once they found the two labeled “white” their hands shook as they crossed out the names. Bring a knuckle to their teeth, they place the notebook back into the drawer. Getting back to their toes, the marchers still paced in and out of the fog. The only change was that the brawny loud robot had to replace her cigar. Looking past her and into the mist, shadows swirled in a hypnotic dance. The shapes swayed and flowed, shades of grays and browns grabbed onto one another and paced each other to another. Trying to keep track of dance CO-141N thought, what was out there that would make them leave their friends?  

            Was there something past the fog? Did something grab? Or did it call out to them? Is it a someone? What color are they? Are they big or small? Do their eyes glow? Do they need a fri--- CO-141N was tossed out of their thoughts as something bashed into the window. They were thrown backward and tumbled off the desk, crashing to the floor. A small pop noise echoed through the room. Picking themselves up and dusting out their dent, they looked back at the window. Whatever hit the window forced it open. CO-141N’s eyes widen, illuminating in a curious yellow glow.

            As the fog grew dark, B-514 and J1M-95 staggered into the room. Groaning and mumbling to one another. B-514 scooped up CO-141N from the floor, causing them to drop the notebook they were writing in, he plopped them both onto the left side bed. B-514’s eyes almost immediately dimmed to black, his arms stalling around CO-141N. The other twin did the same, but not before picking up the notebook and pen and placing the objects in the right-side desk drawer. CO-141N waited, waited for eyes to dim black, waited for bodies to stiffen, waited for was whirl of fans to slow. Shuffling slowly, first their chest, then their shoulder, and lastly their head slithered out of B-514’s grip. Carefully lowering to the floor, taking wobbly tiptoes over to J1M-95’s bed. Wiggling the box from under the bed, they took each object out one by one, sneaking glances at the slumbering twins, organizing them by color back under the bed. Hoisting the box and themselves to the desk, flipping the box upside down making it flush with the wall. Looking up at the still-opened window. They brought one of their knuckles to their teeth turning to the right-side drawer. Carefully sliding it open and pulling out their notebook and pen. Flipping open to the page they were once working on. Finishing it off with a ‘love Conan’, tore out the page, and folded it up. Take care to tuck it under J1M-95’s chin. After light patting him on the head, they grabbed their notebook and pen and turned back to the window. Cautiously crawling onto the box and standing to open the window fully. Sliding the notebook and pen to the grass before squeezing their shoulders out the window.

            The grass was cold and stuck to their body, the wind nearly knocked them off their feet as they followed mud-puddle footprints. They made it to a dripping and battered chain fence, the metal crunched under their hand, rust staining their fingers. The wind shook the fence into a line dance, sending a shiver up CO-141N’s back. Looking back at the window, it appeared small from across the yard. Much too small for CO-141N to fit back into, so putting the pen and notebook in their mouth. They climb the fence, nearly slipping back to the grass only for their shoulders to pop when catching them. The spikes of the top scraped their chest sending a screech into the fog, the wind played with the fence sending the small robot to the mud of the other side. Wiping the mud from their eyes and picking up their notebook. Clutching the pages to their chest shaking the mud of their feet as they chugged forward. The gray swirls gain shape as the light of the windows grows weak. Trees of all jagged shapes and sizes twist in waltz, groaning as their leaves and bark swirl to the ground. The crunch of leaves under CO-141N’s feet sends a giggle to their lips. Skipping and kicking the piles at the foot of the large holders, giggling echoes off the wooden bases. The wind whistled through the trees as if it too was amused. As the trees’ waltz grew thicker, CO-141N tapped their head to send a yellow glow to the dancing crowd. A chuckle was cut short as one of the roots grabbed for their foot tossing them down a hill. Sliding and rolling down in the mud, wet leaves and sticks poking a sticking to their frame. They smacked their head with a clang, wiping their eyes only to be met with a blue-rusted foot. The foot jolted back rushing behind a group of trees. Flying to their feet, following the foot’s massive mud puddles left behind. On the other side of the trees was a rusted blue and green robot. The top of CO-141N’s head barely reached his knee. Tilting their head up, trying to meet the eyes of the robust robot. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mask quivered. He grips the trees, cracking the stumps. CO-141N watched as his chest rapidly rose and fell. “Hell-hello, I’m Co-Conan, have-have you see-seen,” they phased as they flipped open their notebook, “a red-ed, gre-green, blue, pur-purple, black-ack, or gra-gray robot?”

            The big robot's eyes snapped open, and he quickly raised a shaking finger in front of his mask. With a point to the sky, the wind picked up and the sound of clanking metal could be heard above. The heavy frame froze as a screech whirled through the air, weaving in and out of the trees. A shining beak dove for CO-141N, giant claws cut into their red shoulders. They kicked at the body of the giant gray beast, its wings smacking off the ground. Lifting the little one off the ground, the massive wing creates a cloud of leaves. The creature was suddenly pulled back, its wings snapping behind it. A screech moved the fog, as it tossed CO-141N to the ground. Getting to their knees, CO-141N witnessed the big robot raise the beast above his head and bring it to his knee with a forceful crunch. The wings fell still, and the beast was thrown into the fog. The giant brought his shaking hands together, running his fingers on the knuckles of the opposite hand. He started to make his way to the smaller robot but was interrupted by a chorus of clanking metal and screeches. Eyes locked on the sky, beasts of different sizes dove from the mist, spiraling like drills toward the two robots. CO-141N froze at their spot, jaw locked on chattering teeth and eyes wide beckoning the creatures to them. As the one reached for the yellow glowing fruit, something curled around the little one.  

            A wheezing broke the spell, focusing on a blue and green chest rapidly expanding and compressing. They turned to look at his face, his eyes were pinched shut and a soft wheeze came from his mask. His head twitched at each claw and beak raging at his back, pulling at rusted armor to get to the pips and tubes underneath. A warm brown liquid pooled under the giant soaking CO-141N’s knees. They lay back in the pool, placing their hands on their shield's face. Their thumbs ran over the crust of the mask where it met his cheeks. The head’s weight pressed against their hand and the wheezing went silent. It all went silent as a blue glow rested on CO-141N’s face. Both sets of eyes mixed to make a greenish glow that bounce off their frames. CO-141N drew their hands back once the sound of wings grew distant. The giant’s head attempted to follow nearly knocking the two’s foreheads together. He scrambled off the small robot, taking a fist to his chest and rubbing it in a circular motion with his thumb up. Feathers rained down over the two, tinkling on metal as the two stared at one another. CO-141N watched as a father danced in the air landing in their hands. They ran the feather through their fingers and the thin metal hairs poking into their palm. They look between the feather and the kneeing robot sitting in front of them. “I’m go-go-going to call-call you Fea-Feather,” said CO-141N as they stood lifting the feather to his face.

            Feather’s head tilted his eyes tensing slightly as CO-141N pushed the object closer getting on their toes to do so. The kneeing robot then looked past the feather to the dent crowning the little one. His eyes widen, carefully caressing the smaller head neatly fitting it in his palm. Placing his first finger under CO-141N’s chin to keep them still. Feather lightly pressed his thumb into the vent rubbing the mud out of the dent. “I-I-I had-d-d th-this be-before the Bea-beasts”, they whispered through the hands.

            As Feather let go of CO-141N, the smaller robot looked down at their hand rubbing their knuckles together. They noticed the growing pool of warm brown liquid drenching their feet. They slugged through the peddle to the giant’s back. Large parallel rows crisscrossed in groups of three, tubing and pipes protrude from the gashes. Many spat out the same pooling liquid. They could see pumps and gears moving deeper within the blue robot. Their eyes flash as the situation sets in, pulling a knuckle to their teeth as they splash back to Feather’s front. “We-we-we need to-to get you hel-help,” CO-141N said grabbing onto one of Feather’s fingers, trying to pull him to his feet.  

            Feather looks at the hand lifting his finger then to the hand that was held in CO-141N's mouth, then back again. Furrowing his eyes as he paced between the hands. Shacking CO-141N off, he places both palms toward the smaller, then makes a hanged motion opening and closing his hands. CO-141N tiled their head, teeth graining on their knuckle. Feather then looked at the sky, sighing with a huff. Then he looked back with wide eyes, pinching his thumb and index together with one hand and then making a writing motion on the other palm. Processing with the hanged motion again and lastly pointing to CO-141N. “Oh-oh! I-I can get-et a new note-notebook” CO-141N realized.

            CO-141N retook Feather’s finger as he rose in a klutzy motion, using the trees for balance. Feather shuffled from tree to tree, guiding CO-141N by his finger. “Where do-do we ne-ne-need to get-get you?”    

[ky-loves-writing]

Dude, I Think my Girlfriend is a Witch!

Before getting into the story, this was for a creative writing class. I only have a limited amount of words, I had a max of 1,000 words. Any constructive criticism is welcomed.

Now in to the story:

Dude, I think my Girlfriend is a Witch  

            Everyone always asks what the necklace means. What type of stone is it? Where did you get it? Does the stone mean anything? Who made it for you? My answer is always the same, I do not know, and my girlfriend gave it to me. The stone is a reddish-orange, carefully hand-wrapped in a leather cord with two clear beads on either side of the central knot. In my opinion, it is a cool gift from my girlfriend. That's why I wear it; it reminds me how much she cares. I am not sure what the big deal is, their concern when I give my usual answer, always confuses me. I would not put the pieces together until my friend, Eric, brought it up, “Dude I think your girlfriend is a witch or something”.

            Picking my head up from my photo negatives, meeting his face as it peaked out of the hallway to the darkroom. Giving him a light chuckle, “What makes you say that this time?”

            “Just look at this photo”, he said, as he wiped the image at me still dripping and smelling of the ammonium fixer. It was a black-and-white portrait of my girlfriend and me from the carnival we went to this summer. I shrugged my shoulders to say, “It looked like every other photo from the weekend”.

            “Come on man! There is literally a demon in it!” he said, pointing at the spot just above my shoulder. I had to lean in close, covering the page from glare, I could just barely make out a smug that vaguely took the shape of a bird. A chuckle erupts from my chest, “Dude, not this again!”.

            I get up from the desk and take the photo over to a Plexiglass easel, running a squeegee along it. The smudge remained, and I took it to where a hairdryer was plugged in. Switching it to a high setting and waving it above the sheet, the smudge remained. I froze, staring at the cooling paging. Eric looked over my shoulder, I could feel the ‘I told you so’ smirk embroidering itself on his face. With a slap on my back, he said, “You see, she’s a witch, that her a demon friend thing, a familiar or something like that!”

            I stared at the smudge, it transformed. The smudge that once was barely any shape at all was now a very transparent bird. I blinked, the clock catching my eye; twelve-seventeen am. Sighing, “We have been here way too long”.

            Shoving the photo into my bag and shutting down the photo room, Eric trailing behind me. We walked to the dimly lit parking lot where two lone cars waited. As I threw my bag in the back seat a screech caused my ear to pop. On the roof of my car was the biggest raven I had ever seen. Holding my breath, it tilted its head at me. The grayish eyes grew fixed on my chest, and my necklace’s polished stone glowed in the moonlight. Without time to react, the raven lunged forward latching onto the leather cord. I fell backward, landing harshly on the ground, thrashing around as wings slapped me repeatedly. A ping rang out and the bird flew into the night, Eric stood over me with a small baseball bat. Reaching out his hand, he says, “I knew I was going to need it one day”.

            “T-ball finally came in handy”, I laughed grabbing his hand, brushing off the asphalt. After a moment of calm and commenting on the strangeness, we got in our cars and headed home.

            I turned into the forest-surrounded driveway, parking in front of a modernity-sized log cabin. The house groaned in the wind and the trees brushed against the roof. Candles lining the round windows gave, its sleepy eyes opening to greet me. Creaking my way into the dimly lit kitchen, turning on the main light. I pulled out the bothering photo, playing with my necklace as the smudge hypnotized me. I am unsure how long I leaned on the counter searching for an explanation. Slender arms wrapped around my waist and a chin rested on my shoulder, despite the added weight I felt lighter. “You’re home early”, her voice was like a warm blanket wrapping around my body.  

            “You’re up late”, I said giving her a quick peck on the cheek. I lean my head on hers, picking up the photo and angling it from the glare. “What do you think of this?”

            She leaned forward, and her body froze. She snatched the page from my hand, her eyes were wide, and tears formed in the corners. Grabbing my necklace, she rolled the stone in her hand. “Hey, what’s wrong?”, I said as I placed my hand on her face, leading her eyes to look at me.

            Dropping the stone, she ran to our room grabbing her bag and a big leather book. Trailing behind her, I pleated her with questions, “Hazel what’s going on? You’re freaking me out!”. 

            Stopping just before the door, she turns to me placing both hands on my face. “I’ll be right back, but I must go. I will explain later. Just promise me if you hear any knocking, you will not investigate and you will not leave the cabin”. 

Taking a shaky deep breath, “Knocking? What are you talking about?”

She pulled my face closer, our noses touching, “Damian. Promise me.”  

            “Ok, ok, I promise, just text me when you get home”, I say grabbing onto her arms. She gave me a quick kiss, silent ‘I love you’ whispered as she opened the door. With that, she was gone disappearing into the night’s wind. And with a knock coming from our bedroom, I ran for my phone. Picking an all-too-familiar number, “Dude, I think my girlfriend is a witch!”