Of Robots and Men – Short Story


Read Young Writer’s Club member Anne Griffin’s short story – “Of Robots and Men” – below. If you’d like to join the Young Writer’s Club, or would like more information of what they do, then please email [email protected]!

“Dang it!”

A heavy metallic fist slammed on the wooden desk sending a heavy bang that rang though the basement.

“Are you alright, dear?” A high female voice floated down from the top of the stairs leading to the workplace.

“I’m fine honey!” The man called back. He glanced up and saw the thin metallic shape of his wife drifting down the stairs, her optics alight with concern.

“I just can’t seem to get this to work.” He explained looking back at the workbench, his servos still humming with the extra power the display of frustration cost him. He didn’t notice his wife coming until he saw the slender metallic arms embracing his stainless steel body.

She leaned her head on his shoulder with a slight click and side-by-side they looked at the bench.

The copper lady let out a sigh.

“I don’t see why you keep working on this thing.” She commented, “They haven’t been in use since the 60’s.”

The man nodded, “I know.”

He lifted his own metal arm and wrapped it lightly around the smaller robot. He leaned a little closer to her and tapped the touch sensitive plates on their foreheads in a loving gesture.

“But everyone needs a hobby.”

“And you,” She countered playfully, reaching up and tapping the wide steel of his chest, “Need some rest.”

He nodded again, his processors buzzing, “You go on up, I’ll be there in a minute.”
She looked at him, her wide black optics watching his faceplate for any signs of distress before smiling understandingly.

“Ok.” She leaned over and touched foreheads, “You’ll get it finished someday.” She untangled herself from his side and started up the stairs. He watched her shimmering copper body go up the stairs and into the yellow lit home they shared.

He turned his attention back to the wooden bench, his mental circuits quietly warning him his energy cells were running low.

On the bench lay a human body.

Pieces of different colored and textured skin covered it, hand stitched into place with careful, precise needlework. A liver enclosed in a plastic bag lay near the abdomen, still pink and ripe as if it had been plucked from a body yesterday.

A missing foot sat on a table nearby. It had an ugly ink marking around the ankle that the robot was in the process of replacing with a lovely dark brown skin he had found last week.

A pair of mismatched eyes gazed up at the ceiling, void of life. The robot reached for a cloth and cleaned a small spot from the plastic bag that held the matching eye to the one already in the skull.
He gazed down at his handiwork.

I still have a long way to go. He thought before turning, pacing up the stairs, and flicking the lights off with a small metallic click.

“It’s a start.”