Legs 5

I exhaled my breath with an intense sound, kind of like someone punching you in the stomach, and you never saw it coming, surely the pain does feel the same too.

“Hell! I am sick of fainting!” I shouted after taking 3 deeps breaths while holding my chest, like I am tyring to stop my organs from spilling out. “You haven’t eaten for a while, sir. You humans have to eat three times a day to have enough energy to function, and that’s even when you don’t do any labour, sir.” Hemix said while he was collecting food from an almost unsalvageable-looking super-market. “I think I would know my body more than you, thank you.” I complained to the mechanical man, “No sir, my database carries much information that you’ll never be able to completely study, even if you did so for 100 years without sleeping, sir.” True, I thought, plus why would I care to if I had someone to carry it around with me, “Anyway, I brought you here so I can feed your little human stomach, sir.” “Why do you keep calling me sir?” the question made Hemix turn at last, “It’s a habit, sir.” “Robots don’t have habits…” I rejected. “I do, a programmed habit, sir.” “Just like your habit of being annoying to me?” “Part of it, sir.”

I stood up away from the blanket I was laying down on, at least he considered my health, or was programmed to do so, I was trying to figure out how Hemix was made, who programmed him, what is the purpose of him protecting me. He is now cooking a nice smelling meal of canned beans and spices, I think smoked paprika, maybe sweet chilli, both.

I looked around the place I was in, it looked like a wholesale warehouse, with boxes of food and other materials people need, or want actually, mostly want. There is really nothing other than food here that I would need, maybe it would make my life easier, but I can surely survive without them. Napkins, who needs them right now, don’t need to wipe the dirt off my hand so people think I am “modern” or “civilized”. Brooms, when you have a whole city for yourself, why should you sweep any place, or clean a space to impress someone, even if there are people around, I think I will, and they will, care more for their own survival than cleaning a room to be “socially accepted”.

The warehouse roof has many holes, enabling sunlight through, dust floating silently and calmly everywhere, no sounds can be heard but the boiling of water from the bean pot Hemix is working on. It is a relieving silence somehow, even though the fear of being in a desolate lonely place creeps behind your ears, you still find the idea of being the only person alive a blissful one. No need for useless conversation, even the deep philosophical ones, no need for smiling or frowning, no need for asking or giving, it is just you and the barren ruins of a once lived city, at least that’s what I imaged it to be, or remembered. Nothing better than being free of all social shackles with a robotic servant that doesn’t question your reason, but tries to challenge it, in a quirky way, by annoying you.

“You need more carrots?” I asked out of sympathy to the working robot, “Beans will do as good, sir.” He replied without taking his glowing eyes off the pot, “I thought you fuelled on carrots.” “Nope, nuclear energy can be extracted from most substances, it’s only a simple reaction happening in this fine torso” he taps on his belly “and I am all set up, sir.” That’s pretty sustainable, I thought, humans’ bodies need to learn some of that, too bad nuclear energy, or waste, fucks up our weak digestive system. “Done sir!” he bellowed in excitement, and brought the meal still in its pot, “No plates?” I complained, “You are in a ruined city, most things destroyed, had no food for hours, red eyes, and you want to eat in a plate, sir?” he finished with a confused tone, “Sometimes you gotta treat yourself.” I shrugged, “Not today, sir.” He placed the pot in front of me on a shaky wooden box, “What’s wrong with the box?” I asked in confusion, “Nothing…” he tilted his head upwards, “oh crap.” The shake became more violent, and soon the whole ground felt like a salt shaker, not that I have been in one, but I imagined sometimes how does it feel to be a salt grain, being shacked like a mystery bag of plastic balls, creating an earthquake that drops the unfortunate to the food plate of hell.

The calm wind and sand started to get irritated, and soon enough the wooden warehouse started to crumble. “Running out with your bean pot will be most wise, sir.” I didn’t feel like it, but I thought it would be better to listen to the all-knowing robot, Hemix.