Danny and I spent the whole night at the club. Fueled by loud music and libations. We sat there in a cocoon as the hours slipped by, we talked mechanics. “We need to replicate a human, we need to create life itself. It needs a muscle system, sensory system, a power source, a brain to run it all and of course a body to keep it altogether.” Danny added, “it’ll be perfect, actually more than perfect, cause it’ll never die.” I wasn’t sure what he meant but it was too fucking loud in the club to get into details.
We felt elevated, above the people around us, over all the things that ever felt uncontrollable. We sat there on the barstools like poor millionaires. We made plans to get to the dump early the next morning, starting couldn’t wait, and the scavengers would strip any of the good junk early. The junkyard was only a few blocks from the university, and you can find all sorts of good junk that gets thrown out. We could speed along if we found used engine parts or robotic parts from toys so we’re not fabricating from scratch The people that frequented there were either college students from the art department or retired blue collar workers trolling through the scraps with apprehension always darting from their still eyes, which sat atop massive troglodyte necks. Their hands like sausage links, swollen and calloused from working with their hands. They moved at one speed, with purpose and cautiously. They were always judging and talking in terms of distances and time, practical beings. These giants slothed about, but usually kept out of the way. There was always one that would ask what you’re plan was with certain scraps, fishing for an opportunity to impart their practical knowledge. They spoke a different language, loud and in guttural one-syllable words. It was more of an annoyance, but one I was willing to put up with for this journey.
“What do we call it?”
“G bot…thug bot…” Danny offered. “Bot not” I said laughing back, “what about just Al?” We agreed to think about it some more. It had to be perfect, more than perfect.
We went on about the robot’s features, creating his look, his persona, his abilities.
“And no your momma jokes, that’s played out” Danny added. We were so giddy with our creation we could of said anything and it sounded great. Our cocoon grew denser with every thought another thread spun. It was a numbness to everything else.
It was a few minutes after 5 am. We found ourselves walking towards the dump, the remains of the drinks having reached their climax hours before. The dump had green lights which glowed irreverently across town. It breathed through the curtains of fog. I hated that light. It always masked your ability to see any stars. It was always on. It made postcards of some Midwest destination under an enormous sky, which from distant hills stretched to more distant hills, that much more tantalizing. It was always there, sometimes menacingly, always watching. We were transfixed by it in our state as a ship to a sorely needed beacon. The humidity settled in, leaving patches of our cocoon stuck to our skin as it mixed with sweat.
“What’s that noise,” Danny froze. I could hear it too.
Clop, Clop….Clop…clop. It echoed from a side street.
Appearing from behind a curtain of green fog, an enormous buck appears just ahead. Its appearance made more grisly by the arrow hanging from it massive breast, its antlers throwing a net-like shadow across the street, while it made quick jabs at the ground beneath him. What was it doing here, in the middle of town. It stomped and raised its head perpendicular to us and snorted. The green fog disappeared and culminated into the glaring glow from its eyes. I was afraid to move, it pierced our rib cages. It was difficult to tell whether it was analyzing us or maybe the opposite. It kicked the ground three more times in a pawing motion as it snorted.
Oncoming car lights broke the scene. And with a giant leap the guardian of the green light was gone. The green curtain swept back, reappearing around us.
“Was that the same buck we saw when we fired that rocket?” Danny asked.
“Maybe, minus the arrow,” I replied.
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