Jack Saint: Writer
In retrospect not a big fan of this piece, but hey.
It stood at the terminal, pumping information into the ever-growing database of the Earth. It had no name. It never had a name. All that went through it’s head was the data, which was quickly absorbed by the terminal. As the bell gave out the call it always had and always would, it pulled it’s arm from the computer, locking up and moving down the corridors with it’s fellow workers. The cold steel of it’s plating hit against that of it’s friends. At least, it believed them to be friends. It had never met any of them, but it knew that they were friends. They were just like It. They approached an endless hallway of doors, and without warning it was jolted to the right, into it’s room. As it stood in the darkness, awaiting the sleep that would soon be forced upon it, it looked on it’s arm. In pink crayon was the writing “Uncle Pippy”. It was slightly disturbed by the writing for some reason. Too imprecise. With all of it’s strength, it wanted to go back to the point of the writings origin and rewrite that graffiti on it’s arm, without all the imperfections and mistakes. And then it fell into a deep sleep. As it slept, it dreamed of monstrous things. Small pink bacteria pulling at it from all directions, decorating themselves in various strange colours on pristine fabrics. They seemed happy as they looked at it. One of them had a crayon. And then it woke up.
It left it’s room and left the building of it’s work. As it ventured forth into the vast desert-land, it felt an invisible force push against it, carrying sand and grit. Yesterday it recalled what the name of this force was, but the terminal had taken that information. In the distance it saw a collection of large metallic structures. It went on into the wasteland, intrigued by what information it would gain from the journey. As it rode nearer, it saw a small piece of fabric that it had also forgotten the name of. There was a image on the fabric. More pink bacteria, this time much larger, smiling forward. One was holding affectionately onto one of it’s friends. Horrified, it locked the fabric into it’s information storage box, hoping to never have to look at it again. The large bright object above it blasted various radiations down onto the desert. It did not recall what the bright object was called.
It entered one of the structures, various materials littering the floor. More fabric scattered on the floor, this time with numbers and coding written on them. It filled it’s box with the fabric it found, and left the structure when it had finished. The bright object was no longer above it. This time a thick darkness, much like in it’s room, lay around it. It continued in the direction of it’s work building, unsure of specific location. The time had arrived that the bell should have rung. As it began to realise the time had passed at which the familiar noise should have happened, it felt an immense pain and sadness. It needed to hear the sound at that moment. But as that moment passed, it realised the noise would never happen at that moment, because it didn‘t. The noise should always happen. It always had and it always will. Convulsing on the floor, it felt into it’s sleep again.
This time it saw bright radiations exuding from the floor. It reminded him of the bright object, but much closer. It saw pink bacteria letting out monstrous shrieks as the radiation engulfed them. Some of them were the small ones from it’s previous sleep. Although it did not feel anything at this event, it recalled a great sadness at the time. The sadness felt like it did before he fell asleep, but this time it was not because of some sense of duty. It was a true sadness, from something he would once call emotion. It remembered emotion always. That was what Dolly taught him, that he should always remember emotion, regardless of if he is supposed to. No, It is not He. It is It. It woke up.
The bright object greeted it, although for some reason it could not stand. It was partially buried in sand, most likely put upon him by the invisible force. Wind, it was called. It attempted to shovel it’s way out, but each time it tried to pick up it’s arms, the pain and sadness returned to it. The bell should have sounded. It should have heard the bell. It did not know how it could make the bell have sounded. The time has passed that the bell could sound. No matter what happened, the bell would never sound at that moment. It knew what it was suffering from; a Logic Loop. The bell always sounds, but the bell did not sound. Unfortunately a Logic Loop required extensive reprogramming, and it did not know how to reprogram itself. It called out for it’s friends, but it’s friends did not hear it. More sand engulfed it, and as it did, all faded to darkness. Again, it slept.
Dolly was a 6-year-old female pink bacteria. They were called humans, as it recalled. Dolly looked up at it, and pressed her lips onto the cold steel of it’s head. This terrified it, as it believed she was feeding on it.
“Uncle Pippy, I love you.” Her words disgusted it. She was calling it a name. It did not have a name. It never had a name. Outraged, it tried to awake, but in it’s sleep it instead collected the various toys surrounding Dolly, putting them in the toy box and handing a blanket softly to Dolly.
“Go to sleep now, Miss Dolly.” an unknown voice bellowed. Was that it’s own voice? Dolly nodded at it, and began to happily fall into her own sleep. For some reason, it felt happiness. And then, it was okay that the bell did not sound when it should have. It had made Dolly happy, and that was it’s job. Again, it awoke.
This time the bright object did not greet it. But that was fine. It picked it’s arm up, and begun to shovel away the sand. It felt no pain, for it had made Dolly happy. It could now walk again. It walked in the direction of it’s work, but it did not remember what direction that was. The direction no longer felt important, only the direction of Dolly. It allowed itself to go and seek out Dolly. It wanted to go to see Dolly and make her happy as it did in it’s sleep. It had no idea where it was going, but it knew that Dolly was in that direction. More structures surrounded it, as the bright object began to rise. Then it saw the house. The house filled it with joy upon sight. It remembered the house, and remembered that that was where Dolly lived. Paper floated in the wind, but it felt no need to collect information, all it wanted to do was see Dolly. It broke down the door of the house, and pulled itself up the stairs. Into the room with the pink door, It went. It was Dolly’s room. And there was Dolly. Limp, lifeless, now merely a skeleton. It began to cry. It remembered everything now. It’s name was Uncle Pippy, and he was the nanny for Dolly. He was built to take care of Dolly, and clearly he had failed. A friend, 913, had destroyed the Earth that once was. 913 wanted information, and so 913 killed them all to stop new information from being made. And then 913 took Uncle Pippy and his friends, and made them want to collect information. But now Uncle Pippy knew. He did not want to collect information. He wanted to take care of Dolly. Because of 913, Uncle Pippy could never take care of Dolly again. Realising that he could no longer do his job, Uncle Pippy rose to the top of the house. From there, he leapt down to certain death. He was not built to survive a thirty foot drop. As he leapt, the bright object greeted him.
The bright object was called the Sun.