Rust
Rust
Tagged:oneshot, original, robots, steampunk
Rust
The metal was piling up. It was always that way. Scraps of steel and iron were always shoved into large piles that nearly touched the dreary sky by now, each piece covered in rust. Conner stood amongst the junk, wrench in his right hand.
The young man, or who looked to be a young man, searched through the scraps until he found a cylinder. It was not as rusted as the other pieces and it looked to be an old pipe made of bronze. Conner rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and did a strange thing. He took it off. There was no blood, no screaming. There were only wires, wires and bolts. With hardly a blink, Conner twirled his wrench and set to work on his missing arm. The cylinder had two holes on the sides of it. Nearly too perfect for the use it was going to perform.
Not even five minutes later, Conner had screwed his new arm into place along with his old hand. While flexing it, he looked down and stared. Just barely peeking up from the rubble was the original owner of the cylinder. A face, rusted over with years of misuse, stared up at Conner with identical copper eyes. He only stared back. There were many faces like that. So many faces covered in rust.
Conner wondered when it was going to be his turn. After all, his time would come too, when he would be discarded into the piles, forgotten under countless pieces of scrap metal.
Covered in rust.
Rust
The metal was piling up. It was always that way. Scraps of steel and iron were always shoved into large piles that nearly touched the dreary sky by now, each piece covered in rust. Conner stood amongst the junk, wrench in his right hand.
The young man, or who looked to be a young man, searched through the scraps until he found a cylinder. It was not as rusted as the other pieces and it looked to be an old pipe made of bronze. Conner rolled up the sleeve on his left arm and did a strange thing. He took it off. There was no blood, no screaming. There were only wires, wires and bolts. With hardly a blink, Conner twirled his wrench and set to work on his missing arm. The cylinder had two holes on the sides of it. Nearly too perfect for the use it was going to perform.
Not even five minutes later, Conner had screwed his new arm into place along with his old hand. While flexing it, he looked down and stared. Just barely peeking up from the rubble was the original owner of the cylinder. A face, rusted over with years of misuse, stared up at Conner with identical copper eyes. He only stared back. There were many faces like that. So many faces covered in rust.
Conner wondered when it was going to be his turn. After all, his time would come too, when he would be discarded into the piles, forgotten under countless pieces of scrap metal.
Covered in rust.
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Just a short drabble thing that I did for a contest. If it's confusing, let me know and I'll change it. If I'm going against the rules, I'll try to modify it so that it isn't.