Shelby Fisher
Vague Reflection
Dr. Fabrohn checked his watch for the fifth time in the last five minutes. Sighing in frustration, the scientist leaned back in his chair, running his long fingers through his shaggy black hair. He didn’t like waiting and developing patience was not on his to-do list. Dr. Fabrohn had countless things to do and not enough time to finish them.
About five minutes later, thirty seconds past the appointed time, Dr. Fabrohn heard a tap on the door. “Enter,” he called out in an irritated tone. A man of about twenty timidly walked in, his face revealing the fear he felt. Dr. Fabrohn was not someone to ally yourself with, yet George found himself working as the scientist’s assistant. He was constantly criticized, even for little mistakes. Once George had bought Dr. Fabrohn a caramel cappuccino instead of a caramel latte and was forced to dive in shark-infested waters.
“So?” the doctor asked, aggrieved at the tardiness of his sidekick, “Do you have the materials?” George was a scatterbrained fellow, forgetting everything from putting on pants to leaving the cheese off of his professor’s pizza. Yes, the doctor was insane enough to do that sort of monstrosity.
“Ah, yes, sir,” the nervous assistant replied, scrambling to find the package among all the other junk in his backpack. He tugged on a brown cardboard box and handed it over.
Dr. Fabrohn’s eyes glittered greedily at the parcel, his hands twitching with anticipation. As his dirty fingers closed around the top flaps of the box, the doctor suddenly turned his gaze upon George again and snarled, “Why are you still here? I told you to leave me with my box!”
His assistant, surprised from his professor’s sudden outburst, stuttered, “I-I’m sorry, s-sir, I-I’ll be leaving now.” George did an excellent about-face, perfected from years of practice, and slipped out of the room.
Alone at last with his package, Dr. Fabrohn ripped it open and dumped all the contents on the floor. There were several gears and gadgets, chemicals of different horrific shades and a plastic sphere. The scientist snatched everything up and went to the wall on his left. Positioning himself in a corner, Dr. Fabrohn leaned forward as a device on the wall scanned his eye. A circle on the floor surrounding the doctor came loose from the rest of the ground and started to rotate, slowly descending into the carpet. In a few seconds, Dr. Fabrohn’s head disappeared below the floor as the hole closed up once more.
It was ten hours later and the professor was still in his secret room which was in fact a laboratory. Several metal tables with wheels were covered in unorganized junk, everything from potato chips to gears. The room was illuminated by a single light bulb that flickered from time to time. Dr. Fabrohn was on the verge of a finishing his project and had told George not to bother him, for eating was unimportant when the scientist was preoccupied with work.
Wiping the continuous stream of sweat rolling down the side of his face, Dr. Fabrohn stepped back to view his creation. There was a small robot strapped vertically on an upright table, Frankenstein-style. The machine had curves along its waist and strawberry blonde hair that cascaded to its shoulders. It was obvious that it was a girl.
“There there now, sunshine,” Dr. Fabrohn cooed, “Daddy is almost done with your transformation.” He inserted a shimmering orange sphere about the size of his hand into an opening in the torso. Shutting the door that covered the hole, the scientist’s eyes gleamed with insanity as he licked his lips in excitement. “Time for my little sweetie to wake up,” he whispered as he clicked ENTER on his keyboard. The girl’s eyes sparkled like the night sky on a cloudless day as they opened. She trembled as her gears started churning and glanced around.
Where was she? The little robot suddenly felt woozy and raised her hand to her aching head. The sight of her hand stopped her. It was a robotic hand, nothing at all like her smooth, tan hand from before. The girl looked to the scientist for answers, but she could not figure out who he was.
“You don’t remember me, do you?” Dr. Fabrohn wondered out loud. When the robot shook her head no, the doctor jumped up and down in glee. “Excellent!” he hollered, “Simply excellent!”
***
I am alone in space. There’s no one to my left and no one to my right. I only have the stars as companions, but even the spheres of gas keep a safe distance from me; they think I’m dangerous. I stretch out my arm, reaching for the nearest star. The bright light seems to be scooting away from me, not wanting to touch such a monster. Why did it come to this? Why am I a robot? And how in the world can I ask myself these questions? Aren’t I a murderer with no thoughts and feelings? Didn’t I destroy the whole solar system?
I leisurely float in circles, crossing my legs as I ponder how I ended up in this situation. The thought of being a robot, neither technically alive nor dead, terrifies me. I bring my hands in front of my face, examining them. They are still electronic, but feel as natural as wearing a glove. I reach up to my face, suddenly scared of what I would find. I feel a hard, frosty exterior, nothing at all like my human face from before. I feel an overwhelming desire to cry, but nothing comes out. I can’t cry because I’m not human, but the one thing I want to do most right now is let out all these feelings bent up inside me; I don’t like this loneliness.
What should I do? I ask myself, Who would be powerful enough to help me?
Then it hit me.
I swing my arms in a swimming fashion and head to the right, my feet turning into small rockets as I do so. If my internal compass is correct, I should be able to find what I’m looking for.
After what feels like an hour later, I finally see the planet come into view.
Quilon is an odd planet. It defies logic and snickers at reality. Quilon is shaped like a jellybean, with the indented side giving home to a black and evil forest, the Crooked Woods, which no one can enter or escape without permission. The other side of the jellybean is sunny, peppy and overly cheerful. But that’s how the Sinisters like it. The Sinisters are a group of elite overlords that rule a neighboring solar system, but live on Quilon. They are a nasty group of ancient gods, all brothers yet have no love for one another. The Sinisters only interacted for business matters and afternoon tea.
The Sinisters are snobby fellows, with upturned noses and bald domes. They wear black tuxedos with long tails that always seem to be spotless. If you’re lucky, you will never have to meet the Sinisters for that usually means your life is about to end. In their tall, glass sphere, the Sinisters look out on the humans of Earth. Their shiny dome is thousands and thousands of miles up in the air, able to observe all planets in their solar system, monitoring the overall welfare of their domain. Are the planets green enough? Spacious enough? Supported by enough advanced technology? All the planets are different, yet somehow they maintain the same atmosphere of tranquility.
Using my rockets, I gently land on Quilon’s mossy ground, my feet squish as they sink into the muddy earth. I take in my surroundings as I start to stroll in the direction of the Crooked Woods. Tall, dead trees with twisted branches and brown leaves cover the forest floor, increasing the chance of my getting lost. I pass by a petite marsh, the water standing still as if it too were dead. It’s eerily silent in the Crooked Woods, escalating spooky noises to a spine-tingling volume.
Something moves in the tall grass ahead of me; I pause, frightened of what I will find. A mild breeze caresses my hair, as if trying to send my scent to the hiding creature. I know as long as the human side of me controls my mind, I can’t use my weapons. I hold my breath and count to eight, as eight is my lucky number. One… Two… I count in my head as the grass twitches. Three… Four… I hear a low growl, similar to a dog’s but having a faint bear essence to it. Five… Six… The mysterious animal moves about more, as if waiting for me to get to eight so it can launch its attack. Seven…
I hesitate before yelling, “Eight!” I turn around and sprint in the other direction, away from the dangerous beast. The one thing that terrifies me the most right now is the fact that I don’t know what I’m up against. But I have no time for dwelling on such matters as I need to GET THE HECK OUT OF HERE!
I blindly dash farther into the Crooked Woods, glancing behind me as I run in panic. Somehow I end up right where I wanted to be: the white marble staircase to the Sinsters’ lair. I crane my neck upwards, studying the climb to the top. Many people have had several complaints to give to the Sinisters, but it’s impossible to reach them. This isn’t because you have to make an appointment or have to get past security. It is the stairs. Billions upon billions of stair steps reach into the sky, towering above everything else in the world. The Sinisters believe the stairs are perfectly safe. It’s just the problem of climbing them all that usually wore out complainers. Up and up they would climb, determined to reach the top and state their issues. No matter how strong you were, it was determined it would be impossible to make the journey.
I place my foot cautiously onto the first step, once again looking skywards in uncertainty.
I am a robot, I reassure myself, only I can beat the staircase challenge. Breathing in deeply, I start to march up, glimpsing behind me every now and then to make sure the creature wasn’t still hunting me.
Several hours later, I find myself already at the top of the staircase, staring at the office door in front of me. I lay my metal hand on the wooden door, determination driving me on. I push it open and quietly call out, “Excuse me? Are the Sinisters here?” I stand there, my gaze traveling across the room as I search for the gods. The room is strangely human-like, with boring oak tables and chairs, dull bookshelves, dreary square windows and a monotonous carpet.
Not at all like what I expected, I think in surprise. I walk around the room, sticking to the walls as if they would keep me safe from harm. Nothing lines the walls and there’s no personality at all in the room. Now that I think about it, this room seems like a parody of human life, mocking the way humans tend to develop a routine while discarding all their original dreams.
Out of nowhere a group of voices boom in unison, “What is your issue, Miss Sabrina?” I turn around and come face to face with long, upturned noses and beady, little eyes studying me skeptically.
Swallowing any self-doubt I answer confidently, “I want you to undo my solar system’s destruction.”
The Sinisters’ mouths twitch, as if starting to form a smile. They look at each other, every one of them raising their right eyebrow as they contemplate my request. Turning to me once more, they reply as one, “We cannot do that, Miss Sabrina. It is not in our power to do so.” Their burning gaze challenges me to argue and, of course, I do.
“No,” I snarl, “You will save those innocent people!”
The Sinisters blankly stare at me and reply in a single monotone, “We can save the ship, but not the planet.” My hope soars again before they continue, “However, you must be dealt with.” Their intense gaze pierces through me, like a knife through bread. I understand it’s the end for me. No more living, laughing, learning, loving. It’s all over.
I don’t get a second chance, I realize as my heart rate quickens, My deed was too horrible and unforgiveable for a second chance. I am just a murderer begging for mercy.
“Okay,” I murmur as I bow my head in defeat, “punish me as you wish.” I squeeze my eyes shut, not wanting to know how I’m going to die. When nothing happens, I open first one eye and then the other.
The Sinisters are shaking uncontrollably, looking as if they are having a seizure simultaneously. My eyebrows scrunch in confusion as I try to figure out what’s wrong with them.
“Are you loading your energy to blast me to bits?” This causes them to tremble more and I finally figure out what they’re doing.
They’re laughing – at me.
I straighten up, furious at their rude behavior. “Why are you acting like this when thousands of people were killed? You should be doing something, you’re gods after all,” I retort.
The Sinisters stop snickering and become serious once more. “Miss Sabrina, we weren’t going to punish you,” they reassure me, “We were just going to make you human, it’s not your fault you killed people against your will.” They examine me a little more before adding, “And we need to inform you of your true past.” They motion for me to sit down and I settle myself on a hard leather sofa, my butt stinging from the impact.
“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away,” they begin. I roll my eyes at their lack of seriousness and clear my throat in annoyance.
“Sorry,” the Sinisters apologize. Their eyes become unfocused as they begin, seeming to be looking into the past. “There was a scientist of long ago who lived merrily with a gorgeous wife and two adorable twins. They lived in a beautiful mansion with a large lake in their backyard and were rich enough to take an elaborate vacation every month. Yes, this doctor was living it large and well. He not only had a well-financed life, but also a happy one. But alas, perfection can’t last forever.” The Sinisters paused, all of them taking a sip of water.
“The wife was suddenly diagnosed with schizophrenia and went insane. Sometimes she would beat the children for no apparent reason and sometimes she would act as sweet as angel food cake. One day the wife went over the edge of sanity and over the edge of a building, believing she could fly. The doctor found her body, still fresh, on his way to work. Seeing his wife dead on the ground corrupted the man’s mind and he lost it, without the help of a disease. The doctor tried to slaughter his children, believing his wife’s death to be their fault, but only halfway succeeded.”
Seeing the perplexed look on my face, the Sinisters explained, “He had killed only one twin. The other had tried to escape but the doctor caught her. He had other plans in mind for the captured twin. He painfully morphed the twin into a half-robot half-human creature with the power to kill a planet or solar system by means of self-destruction.” The Sinisters hesitated, glancing at me before continuing.
“The twin was you, Sabrina. You’re his monster.”
TO BE CONTINUED IN SHORT STORY 3!!
