literature

Introduction.

Deviation Actions

Published: Mar 19, 2009

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Literature Text

_{”I thought we could wait for the fireworks…”

The world was always sharp through my eyes. A regular glass of water set on a windowsill was a radiant sea of sparkles—a shower of diamonds. Rain was always misty, though I could depict each individual drop and could calculate how many seconds and feet it would take to travel from air to ground.
I could see miles away. Much further than human eyes ever would. I could see ships far out into the ocean, metal pulleys and thick wire straining to force up tons of fish and squids –the occasional dolphin—from the deep waters. I could see even the more occasional meteor breaking through the Earth’s atmosphere, dissipating before it could harm anything on the surface of the planet.
A bug scampering across the wooden floorboards of the foyer was always so defined. I could count all its legs and identify its species with the programming in my artificial brain. I knew many kinds of animal, insect, arachnid, reptile and so on with just my eyes.
And it was what I was: artificial. I was made for serving the Homo Sapien Sapien species—so I could make their lives easier.
At least, when I asked my master, that was what he told me he created me for. Often times, however, the answer would be different. Sometimes my purpose was to serve as science research. Sometimes it was because I was to become a weapon, though the definition of ‘weapon’ was a material for killing. The definition of killing, I knew, was something humans were never allowed to do. My master would always back his theory with something like “You are correct. Though, however right you are, unlike we humans, you are a machine. Inhuman.” I never decided to see what would happen if a pressed him further.
My master was a man of many and few words. He was intelligent and thorough down to the last detail. Every project was one-hundred percent, if not more. He was respected by his peers, and because I was one of his works, respect was practically required for me. No one stepped out of line or spoke out or against him. His word was like law, period.
Except this once:
I recall a man who disagreed with my master’s theory. My master was cool headed in the situation, asking to talk to the man aside from everyone else. The rest of the men were dead silent, knowing this other man had done something none of the others were brave enough to do. No one told me what happened to that man, for he was never again seen, but I felt that it wasn’t my place to ask. I was made for the purpose of serving humans; Humans were not made for serving me.
I was useful to everyone. When one of the humans was stuck on a scientific or mathematical equation, I could help. When one of the humans was not able to reach something on a shelf too high for their stubby arms, I could reach it.
My build was tall, as my master had intended me to be. The tallest human I ever saw came up to about six feet nine. On me that was a little below my shoulder. I was eight foot exactly.
And I knew I was scary: I could see the fear in the men’s eyes. When they spoke of me, it was in whispers, something I could pick up from two rooms over. They would say I was “so thin I could fit into about anything, or cram into just about anywhere,” or something like “I wasn’t really living. I could never think on my own. I would never make it to the outside world.”
My master always told me he wanted to create more of me. When I informed him about the things the others had spoken of, he told me it was only because they were true, and because they were scared.
When I was not needed I would spend my time looking out the window in the foyer. I would watch the time go by, seeing the sun rise in the west and set in the north. As soon as the sun left, a full moon would accompany it. Sometimes the days were short, sometimes the days were long.
But it was the way the humans lived—a day to night to day basis. They aged, their hair grew, they hunched over, wrinkles formed. But I always remained the same. Even over a course of eleven years.
On the last day I spent with my master he was creating a compound for a lethal disease. And direct immunity for it. But these days my master was wearier, more run down. He kept dropping things. He kept repeating to me, “I’m close, Robot, I’m close!” But he wasn’t, for when he would say it, the beaker would somehow slip from his fingers. After the fourth time a beaker dropped, he shut me off.
I only assumed it was because he didn’t want me to see him fail at something, though it would never mean a thing to me.
When I was shut off it was just as if I were someplace else the whole time. As if I were given something the humans called a vacation.
In seven years, two-hundred and thirty-eight days, fourteen hours, twenty-two minutes and three seconds later, I ‘woke up’. But it was to the face of someone I had never seen before.}