This Melancholy Machine

This Melancholy Machine (A Short. #1)

The wiring from this melancholy machine, of which was sentient and aware of its actions, to the dying boy, became akin to the rusty nails that held up the posters in his lonely and near desolate room. The machine had nothing but the utmost love for this boy whom was under his care. After all, it was the only thing that kept the boy breathing. Though, alas, they were the only two who lived in this world of rust and waste and as such had no one to flaunt their friendship to but their selves.

Between the gap of the bed that the boy lay upon and his bedside cabinet there lay a plethora of souls who’s lives still remain in the fragile balance of death and undeath; this, of course, being the only source of the melancholy machine’s ability to keep his friend alive. Death awaited them both, in certainty... and the machine was not so sure itself of whether he was merely prolonging their time together or prolonging both of their suffering.

Alas in days that passed after centuries of these two being together here the boy’s health would deteriorate... his only wish to die and be free from his state of being mechanistically undead. In agonizing discomfort he turns to his friend and whispers... “The time may have come...”

A robotized yelp of desperation and then a crestfallen whine protruded from the sound device of the machine. Then without hesitation he removed the support of the wiring. And with each inch that was removed from each organ that was on this support the boy faded a slight more... until he had become but a memory.

... If the machine could have cried, he would. But alas, his friend was gone and now it was time for him to shut down his system... 

Until they met again... in due time.

Signed: J.M. Seaton