Those Warm Hands.

Machines are always considered non-living but are they really? It seems to be that we abuse everyday objects, machines in particular and are not aware of it.

~Before~

 

     I first found myself in a box. Somebody had put, what they had called, bat-e-rie-s into me. I could feel the start of the whirrs and ticks in my metallic body. When I glanced at a shiny surface, it reflected a wierd object. As I touched my "face", I saw that object touch its own. As I stared into the shiny surface, I realised that the object was me. I stared into those glassy blue eyes and sun-kissed gold locks of hair. My cheeks were tinted with rouge and my lips were the colour of blood. I tried to turn around but it felt as if my arms and legs were weighed down by bricks. Slowly, I got the hang of it. To my horror, I found a clockwork device embedded onto my ballet dress! Before I could comprehend what had happened to me, I was picked up by warm soft hands and cuddled to a warm chest.

 

     Everything was warm, filled with some invisible energy in the air. I was paraded around a room, filled with people. They had all cheered, "Happy Birthday" to somebody, her name was Annie, I think. I heard giggles and a shy, "Thank You" being answered back. It sounded closer than the other voices. It felt lovely to be held by those warm hands. I found myself wishing I could be in those warm palms forever. I was taken everywhere by those warm hands. All day long, I was dragged here and there, but I loved it. Those warm hands always filled me with a bursting emotion in my chest that I cannot seem to explain. I learned new words and about the place I lived in. I attended tea parties and shopping sprees. I even got my own dresses and shoes made for me by my very own tailor.

 

     But everytime Annie turned the knob that worked the clockwork device, I felt compelled by an invisible force to dance. It was tiresome and it left me drained after the event. Usually Annie would stare at me in wide eyed wonder as the clockwork device in my body hammered out a melodious song and compelled me to dance. I did not really mind. It was a small price to pay for the luxury I lived in.

 

~After~

 

     My clockwork device was not working, not properly, even though Annie turned and twisted the knob as many times as possible. It was horrible, to feel the tight clicks going through my body each time she failed. I felt a cold and heavy feeling in my chest. It was as if I was being weighed down by a freezing block of ice. When I did not dance after the twentieth time she had tried, she slammed my lifeless body onto a hard surface. With each hit I could feel my hard exterior denting, breaking, bending. It hurt. My glass eyes were dry, even though I wanted to cry so badly. They pained me. Finally, exhaustedly, Annie gave up with a last resounding whack and a high pitched screech as she stormed out of the room.

 

     I lay on the hard surface, broken and pained. I had thought that those warm hands could never hurt anyone or anything. I was wrong. So wrong. When the tears and blood finally did come, I was almost cold. I crawled on my hands and knees, up to the mirror, trying to touch my reflection. One of my glass eyes had broke and I looked almost macabre. Before I could examine myself any further, I was whisked away by cold hands, dragged lifelessly, limply out of the house. I could hear the sounds of the car doors being opened. It was a long time before the car doors opened again. I was tossed carelessly onto a concrete ground. There I lay, my lifeblood pouring from my mechanical veins as I tried to recall the happy memories I had once shared with Annie.

 

     As time passed I felt the mechanical whirr and ticks of my once-working clockwork body slowly cease to be. It grew fainter and fainter with each passing minute. When it finally stopped, I felt myself smiling as I disappated into the thin air, swept away by the wind to a faraway place where those warm hands that had once carried me, would now carry me forever.

 

~*~

Author's Note

This is a heavily edited version of my original piece, the Music Box Dancer. This version was inspired by Toy Story 2. I have a vivid fascination with ballet dancers and their graceful movements, I could only ever wish to be like them. The machinery was inspired by the book Clockwork by Phillip Pullman. A great read.

Reviews

[broken web]

Oh my, really there is not a lot to say about this except how amazing your description is and how saddened this made me. This simple little story makes me never want to throw down any of my nice little things again scared that they are going to bleed out and cry for the pain i've put them through. It kind of makes me feel bad for the things that I broke as a child. Ah well. this was very nice and I enjoyed it a lot no matter how sad it was to think about a little glass ballarina figurine die a horrible death at the hands of her owner on a concrete ground. I think the use of the word I could have been a little more scattered. In first paragraph or so it was used a lot of at the beginning of the sentence when it really didn't need to be there. Other than that though I don't think there were many mistakes and it turned out to be a good quick story and a nice thing to read and I would reccommend it to my friends.

-Rayn*

[Tannen Dell]

Indigo Rising Magazine seeks original and innovative material. This is a platform for writers to find a place to send their best and brightest work. We are open to a wide array
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Tannen Dell.
Editor-in-Chief

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[Micco Gibson]

Wow, what a turn from the before and after! The second one made me pretty sad, and it really gives a different view to the toys we had when we were young. I liked this one, good write!