When struggling with writer’s block, the best thing to do is force oneself to write… right? Either way, here’s another entry for this week’s Inspiration Monday. Adorable image taken from here. Enjoy.
The Crying Machine
The robot sat weeping in the corner, to the growing concern of the scientists who observed it.
“I told you not to give it emotions!” the elder hissed to his student. The younger man shrugged pitifully in response.
“I said I was sorry, Professor. I thought it might give it stability—you know, help it to learn the difference between right and wrong. Teach it to interact with people on a psychological level.”
“Allow it to have a meltdown upon realising that it doesn’t have a name?”
“Well, I didn’t know robots were capable of depression, alright?!”
The robot wailed in a long, grating screech that had both men covering their ears. Desperately, the Professor approached it, shouting over its continuing sobs. “Experiment One-Oh-Seven! We apologise; we didn’t know this matter would affect you so greatly.”
The small metal being rose to its feet—even so, it stood only at the Professor’s waist, and when it sniffled, it looked pathetically akin to a child. “Affect me?” it questioned in a mechanical voice choked by despair. “Of course it affects me! How would you like it if I called you … you …” Its vivid blue optics dimmed thoughtfully, before it concluded, somewhat weakly, “Professor Two-Six … Four. Huh?! How would you like that?!”
“I wouldn’t like that,” the elderly scientist placated, rubbing his eyes tiredly. His young assistant stepped in, crouching kindly down beside the crying machine.
“What would you like to be called, buddy?”
The robot gazed wondrously at both men. “I can choose a name?”
“Of course,” the Professor agreed. “What should we call you?”
Its eyes dimmed once more as it lost itself in thought. With a cacophony of metallic clinks, it crossed its arms and announced firmly, “Gary.”
“Gary?” the men questioned in unison.
“Gary,” it asserted.
The scientists shared an incredulous look before the Professor coughed awkwardly, conceding, “Very well, uh … Gary. Now that we have that organised, we should get down to business. If you wouldn’t mind getting up on the table, we shall proceed to—”
The voice whirred in a quick disagreement. “No.”
The student winced as his mentor turned, oh-so slowly, to fix his stony gaze upon him. “… Your robot said ‘no’. Did you hear that?”
While he couldn’t help but scowl at the remark—why was it that Gary always became his whenever there was a problem?—he nevertheless frowned down upon their small experiment. “C’mon buddy, it’s just some routine tests. Questions, and what have you. So how about you get on the table, hey?”
Gary’s steely face somehow formed a childish scowl as he replied, “No. Shan’t.” Without a backward gaze, he proceeded to the scientists’ lounge, where he reclined comfortable against the cushions and began to watch television.
The Professor glared at his student until the boy visibly cringed. “Oh yes,” he agreed mockingly. “Emotions were a brilliant idea.”
Behind them, Gary reached for a box of tissues. “I love this show …”
- Love The Bad Guy