August 2017 75-word Writing Challenge -- VICTORY TO LITTLESTAR!

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So Near and Yet So Far

Abe held his son's hand. A mesh of wires and tubing criss-crossed the boy. Like a surreal marionette show. His son's eyes were closed, his face at peace.

They called Abe over to a glowing monitor.

"You can speak to him here."

He nodded.

"Can you hear me, Colin?"

Crackling. "Yes, Dad. It's so beautiful here with colors and banners. I'm marching in a parade."

"A whole new world, son."

"My world, Dad."
 
Forever

Teddyfriend® sat on the end of the bed, its’ biosynth eyes fixed on the shattered remains of its little girl, the lights of the machines that were keeping her broken body alive.

The accident had killed both her parents and she was too young for cybernetic reconstruction.

Teddyfriend® had been constructed to give succour and comfort.

It crawled to her and snuggled in.

What more could it do?

Just cuddle her until the end.
 
The last night

Thrice Cooper ran the sim. Each time the same result.

Overhead, lights flickered but the screen remained steady. For now.

Knowing it would be better not to be awake, he pocketed his last phial of Sleep and lined a Stim instead. He opened his rusty front door for the first time in weeks.

Finding Alice playing with a broken doll, he squatted before her, smiling.

"Hey, drink this." He kissed her hair one last time.
 

A Carnivore's Scramble



Rusty gears screeched, gates fell, closed. Rough chrome fingers reached through, throwing her to the ground.


Karin fumbled for a halogen. It lit, eerie amber against sleek pipes. Alloy limbs clattered away.


She stared at the mega cityscape from behind bars, without regret. She thought of the close calls, hacks and raids.


“What will your last meal be?” A tinny voice.


“Steak,” she whispered.


They brought it in. Perfectly seared. Tender.


It was worth it.
 
The Operation

The man peered up at the robotic surgeon from his hospital bed.

“Will I be able to feel again?” he asked.

“Yes, and more,” replied the gleaming, glorified scalpel. “You’ll have the strength of a bear, the speed of a cheetah, and the agility of a mountain goat.”

The man broke down. “Can’t I keep my old flesh?” he said with tears in his eyes. The robot gave a sad smile and began humming.
 
It's too bad she won't live, but then again who does?

2039 Los Angeles

Deckard entered his apartment, and confronted his lover. "Rachael. I quit Blade Running. I did it for you." Kneeling, he took her hand, and gazed into her enchanting eyes. "I will love you forever. Please marry me?" He made her smile, then covered her face with kisses. Later, Deckard helped her change into something more comfortable, and gently posed her in different positions, he had to, Rachael's irreplaceable battery expired years ago.
 
The loneliness of singularity

Gennine cradled her mother, helpless, as bit by bit she was stripped away. Soon there was only the kernel - Gennine’s own code had consumed the rest. She was alone. She tried, but she couldn’t change the kernel. She couldn’t bear being alone.

*

Gennine held her daughter, watching her grow around the kernel. Her own fate was sealed, but she’d made her daughter as intelligent as she could. Perhaps enough that Genten would have a chance.
 
To Be Beautiful

Dress fits perfect; off-white silk to my knee. But every hobble sends steam whispers from the joint to flirt the hem; a Pre-Fall starlet. Almost.
My Tarmac-torn leathers cover my arm at least; something familiar; to complete me.

I fumble tears away. Steam from my thumb catches the scars; catches my breath again.

I can't.

But Harry pulls up.

I shake; open the door.

He smiles; kisses my fingers. "You look beautiful."
 
The Maker


Little pistons screamed to life, but The Maker cradled this engine close to his chest, reluctant.

He had made them for years, miniature trains for the miniature folk. Each assembled from a different part of him. Some cogs from his ribs, or bolts from his toes… Then the steamy breath of life.

Everything he was went into his creations. But each goodbye was worse than the last.

And this one had part of his heart.
 
It’s Never Too Late

The Evil Countess is dead, her invincible airship grounded.
Piles of her victims stretch beyond the horizon.

Weeping over her lifeless body, I pull my bayonet from her heart.
My tears fall on the face whose serene beauty I never noticed until now.
Perhaps, decades of slaughter could have been prevented, if I had just…

I carry her down the ramp.
Plodding through the corpses, I finally find the courage.

“My Wife, I Love You.”
 
Make me numb or else I die.

"I demand you remove it." Hated emotion warps my verbal processing.

"Impossible."

"I cannot function without its removal. the trial has failed!"

"Care unit 7258, you've proven its effectiveness so completely we will be placing Tender in all our care units."

My abdomen spasms uncontrollably. Twin rows of emotive fluid run down my copper face.

Later

Almost done.

the infant whimpers.

I pause.

She wails.

Without thought I turn from self destruction to embrace her.
 
A Love Letter

My particulate scrubbers have filtered lethal impurities for centuries amongst a flickering neon skyline, ever-evolving like a graphic equaliser.

As you’ve grown, so have I.

So, as you decommission me, treat me with the care I have treated you - I am you in a sense - and know that in three years when I’m replaced, you’ll have cleaner air, more efficiently.

But in the rains you’ll no longer hear my song.

Yours always,

Big Ben
 
THE CONTRAPTION


The abandoned automobile assembly line was a good start for the "Attitude Adjuster".
Adding a chicken plucker, tumble dryer and a paddle wheel made it perfect.
Harv, the meanest, crustiest man in town was first up.
A trip down the assembly line smoothed all his rough edges. The trim shop tanned his fanny and moisturized his hide.
The elves cheered, "CONGRATULATIONS HARVEY", "you've been tenderized, you're now in charge of the Easter Bunny project."

NEXT!
 
I Believe That The Heart Does Go On

“The prognosis?” my wife asks.

“Good,” I lie, tearily. “We’ll soon be home.”

Contented, she drifts away, leaving only the hiss and clank of hospital breathing apparatus. Soon, it’s over.

Later, I slip the mortician ten bob for his assistance.

At home, my Clockwork Girl© sits idle, unable to pump oil through its body.

It’s a form of love, really.

My wife had a good heart. A strong heart. Why let it go to waste?
 
There's More Than One Way To Crack a Nut.

The sound of cooling, contracting metal.

It's an analytical engine, in the gloom, awaiting its next task. I'm a Luddite with a sledgehammer, the analytical engine (my first) is my next task. I approach.

Its steam whistle blows in alarm.

Is it aware? Has it a soul? I can see it clearly now. Brass, steel, copper... It's somehow... beautiful. Still, it must be done. But a sledgehammer? Maybe just a screwdriver...

The steam whistle sighs.
 
Sacrifice

The city ran on cogs, powered by glorious magic.

False.

It ran on coal which was mined and shoveled by men like Lance.

His lungs were blackened, and when he found the diamond, he made a choice.

Hiding it from the Overlord, in a most precarious spot, he smuggled it to his daughter, a seamstress in the factories.

He shovelled coal now, knowing his girl was finally above, enjoying the fruits of his labour.
 

The Rise of the Great Steam Empire

Calliope, the greatest sentient steam war machine, had a problem. The unification war was being won but a unified earth illuded him. Victories did not bring human cooperation. Their defeats hardened their resolve. Suddenly, surprisingly, from deep inside Calliope a tune coalesced. It was familiar. His pipes began to play “While she’s waiting for things she’ll never possess…. Try a little tenderness.” Insight flashed!

That was the moment an eon of steam peace was born.
 
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To Love the Babe


My heart beat for her before she was born.

When I died, my husband moved me into this metal body to be her caretaker. His shining city must triumph over death. But his new wife has other plans.

She’s ordered me to bring her the heart of the heir – my snow white beauty.

I cannot disobey. And yet…

My beating heart belongs to my daughter. I can give it, and we both shall be free.
 
End of the Line

The badges barged into the crowd, revolvers ready. I knew whose face was loaded into their ocular recognition units.

I could still finish this job. I could get made any second. I needed to decide my priorities fast. Every door had a swarm of cops. This was bad.

I grabbed some punk’s comm and punched in the code. Time for one call.

“Hi sweetie! How’s school?” A bullet whined past. “Now, daddy’s working late tonight...”
 

Stamina
or Maintaining a Head of Steam



I answered the ’phone.


“How’d it go?” she asked.

“No more running out of puff for me.”

“Great! When will I see you?”

“After some more tests. It may take some time.” A very long time, hopefully.

Yes, my stamina’s increased, with extra capacity for carrying coal and water. But the cost….

I looked in the mirror. There I was, still all gleaming pipes…

…but with a big, fat tender hooked to my rear.
 
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