The Clockwork Man

The world looks different to the clockwork man as he peers from his place by the sea. He can hear the buzzing of his gears and the thumping of his pistons over the sound of the surf. The sand outside dials into focus through telescopic eyes. He can't smell the salt and fish in the air. His skin has worn away exposing the steel and wiring once underneath. The silver plates of his chest are riveted over the remaining heart of flesh, trapped where it can't be seen or heard. The clockwork man is wound, but still.

He remembered a time when his arms were made of flesh. Wrapped with nerves and feeling. A time before the choice. When his lips could hold the skin of an apple and his teeth were not a grinding machine. Before the pain he had a name, but that was long ago. Now he is just the clockwork man. A contraption. A toy. A memorial.

The pain had come first to his hands. It burned like invisible fire. It felt like it was consuming him, but left the meat to flare again. A hot brand he couldn't release. Pain like that should be hard to forget, but the numb digits the doctors gave him as replacements cooled his memory.

The clockwork man opened the intricate replacement he'd had since then and tried to remember. He felt nothing but loss.

It had been the skin of his cheeks and then his whole face that came next. The same staggeringly painful embers held to him, but this time blinding him with white hot heat. The choice was easier this time. He sacrificed his flesh to loose the pain. His eyes were sharper, but they seemed to miss more subtle things. At least the pain was gone.

After that it was a succession of creeping pain and replacement surgeries. The price had been paid to free himself from the pain. He became the clockwork man.

The story of his transformation ticked through his processor as he watched the tide pull back revealing her gifts. Sticks and shells, seaweed and foam colored the beige coast. A couple walked together from the hotel next door. They laughed and hugged and held hands. They're missing some of the best shells, he thought, and they are inefficient with their stride. They could be improved so much. The clockwork man kept watching and judging these people of flesh. He considered the servos and armor he would use to better the couple.

It was then, with one awkward misstep, the girl stepped on a razor edge of coral. Instantly she crumpled and grasped he injured foot. With a whirring, the clockwork man rose to his feet, ready to act. The ticking and buzzing echoed off the glass he had been watching through.

The boy of flesh knelt beside the girl, who now had some blood on her hands. He looked at her foot. "How could he help?" thought the clockwork man, "He'll fail without the right parts." Then, not even knowing he was being watched from behind glass, the boy kissed the injured girl's forehead and lifted her from the sand. He wasn't much bigger then her. He struggled with the weight and his feet sank deeper into the sand. Slowly, Step by step, without any assistance, he carried the girl to help.

The clockwork man stayed standing for a long time. He zoomed in on the speckles of blood drying on the beach, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The idea of replacement parts for the couple seemed silly to him now. There was something to them, a subtlety he'd missed, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. They weren't perfect, but he couldn't imagine how he could make them any better.

The clockwork man returned to his chair. His buzzing and ticking quieted. He could hear an unfamiliar thumping getting louder. For the first time, in a long time, he could hear his heart beat.