This was written as an answer to the Author Aerobics Plot Challenge posted earlier this week. I have to be honest and admit this took two lunches, not one. I also went over the limit by 200 words. I admire all you flash writers out there! It’s hard to write such concise stories!
I enjoyed this exercise, but I think next week’s challenge will be a lot less time intensive.
The Metal Girl
by T.S. Bazelli
βHow do I look my darling?β The words were curdled milk on hisβs tongue, but he wanted to practice his English. The silver mirror had oxidized in places, making it difficult to gain a clear view as he turned around in the mirror the silhouette of the tailored black suit and waistcoat.
βHnuh!β Fan snorted, and replied in Cantonese. βYou look foolish, husband.β
βNevermind me.β He waded through the stacks of boxes full of gears and metal scraps salvaged from the streets. βTodayβs our daughterβs big day! She looks glorious doesn’t she? Are you ready Mei Ling?β
The metal girl was still and silent as he gingerly wheeled her out towards the front door. He had not given her a mouth to speak. If only I had a pump, he thought, but that was idle speculation for another day. This body was the product of many years work. He knew the range of motion built into each finger, where every nut and bolt fit together. Perhaps if they were successful he could afford better parts, he resisted the urge to pat the wig of black hair, and as always, carefully arranged his daughterβs golden clamshell necklace beneath the collar of the frilly British girlβs dress.
βTheyβre here!β Fan yelled out, her face unreadable.
He nodded, and helped Mei Ling out the door.
βYou must be the inventor.β The man chewed at a wad of tobacco and got out of the hulking shape of an automobile. He thought that was what they were called. He had seen a photograph once. He was delighted they had honored him such. It would be something new for Mei Ling.
βAndrew,β He extended his hand, offering his English name, but the chewing man did not extend a hand in return.
They drove through the busy streets, into wider fuller streets, past staring rickshaw drivers and store fronts. His daughterβs eyes were wide and expressionless, but she saw. He knew it.
They stopped in front of a large new world style building, with its smooth white, columned facade, and tiers of shuttered windows. As the chewing man held the door open, he stepped into a world he only fantasized about.
βIf you do well, Mei Ling,β he whispered in Cantonese. βOne day we will live in a palace like this.β
They entered a large hall with a piano set at its center. It shone liked lacquered wood. Its keys gleamed brightly ivory. Mei Lingβs eyes rested upon it, but Andrewβs eyes darted elsewhere. Black and white photographs hung on the walls depicting what seemed like the same man. A man standing outside a Zepplin, the hulking shape of a zeppelin, a man in standing in the streets of Paris, a man shaking hands with King George V. An important man, his heartbeat quickened. A rich man.
βSo! You are the inventor weβve heard so much about!β The man from the photos rolled off a couch. He was not British but American, he placed the accent.
βSo pleased to meet you. Iβm Andrew.β
The huge man clasped his two hands in his, nearly crushing them with his force. βWelcome to my humble abode Andy!β
Andrew, he wanted to correct, but held his tongue. He bowed slightly, unsure how to proceed.
βRobert Mooreβs my name. I fancy myself an adventurer, and an exporter or strange wares. You can call me Bobby.β Bobby turned his attention to the girl. βSheβs so little! I thought sheβd be bigger.β
βSheβs only 12 years old.β
Bobby laughed, mistaking it for a joke. He reached out for her metal hand.
Andrew stepped between. βPlease do not. The mechanics are delicate.β
βOh right. Sorry, sorry.β He tilted the hat on his head, revealing a sweaty brow. Odd people, Andrew thought, as he sat Mei Ling carefully down at the piano. Still, they had promised him a generous amount of money for the performance. It was something a poor mechanic could not afford to refuse.
βShall we begin?β
Bobby nodded. The other gentlemen and ladies in the room murmured among themselves. Fascinated by the small metal girl in the frilly dress.
βPlay Mei Ling.β He whispered in his daughterβs ears. βLike you did when you were a real girl.β
Beethovenβs moonlight sonata, began to whisper out of her fingers. The room became hushed, until the only sounds were the click of metal upon ivory, and the notes of the piano. Her fingers fell silent as the song ended
βBravo!β A red cheeked woman wiped a tear from her eyes. A mustached man frowned slightly. Bobbyβs face had turned bright red. βAnother! Let her play another!β
And she did.
Andrew smiled on as his daughter played Mozart then Bach. She had learned well. She played until her fingers began to slow and the spring coils that powered the movement had unwound completely.
Andrew bowed, βIβm afraid that is all for the evening.β
βHow did you do that? You are a genius, man!β
βIt took many years.β Andrew lifted his face up.
βI need to have her! Name your price. I donβt care how high, how much would you sell her to me for?β
βShe is not for sale.β
βEvery man has his price.β Bobby grit his teeth together. Andrew tried to look him in the eye. Who was he? Nothing amid these strange, well clad people. He longed to take Mei Ling home.
βMr. Anderson!β Bobby replied. βYou are a scientist are you not? Why donβt you have a look here and see how this man did it. If he will not sell it, maybe you can reproduce one like her for me. Figure out the mechanics behind it all.β
A spectacled man came over, and lifted up a limp arm, rotated her fingers between two of his.
βPlease be gentle,β Andrew whispered.
βA complicated set of gears in the fingers. Like clockwork.β He undid the back of the dress, and peered into the large rectangular hole in her back. βMovement is powered by coiled springs. Yes! I see! But what I fail to understand is where the routines for music are stored.β
βItβs devilry!β The mustached man exclaimed. He had gotten redder in the face. βWhat else could it be? A machine cannot express emotion.β He shuddered, and crossed himself.
βI assure you there is a mechanical explanation.β Mr. Anderson replied. No one seemed to remember the Chinese man in the room now. The two men pushed past each other, peering into the heart of the machine.
βNo!β Suddenly sick to his stomach. βYou will damage her.β
βYou want her, you can keep her, but please, I beg you do not destroy her.β
He walked over and unclasped his daughterβs golden locket from her neck. Bobby, nodded and a man passed him a wad of cash. It was more than his life was worth.
He refused the automobile, and called for a rickshaw. He clutched the locket in his hands, and opened up the two halves, revealing a coil of dark hair Fan had clipped from their daughterβs head before she died. His eyes full of tears. He whispered, and pressed the locket to his ears like a seashell. He could hear it still, the faint sound of music playing, and a girlβs laughter. βNot devilry, but a miracle.β
Pretty good. Better, I think, than my attempt – especially at characterization (which is an acknowledged weakness in my own effort). In fact, with some polishing, I think this could be salable at some point.
Here’s my own shot…
The Last Flight of the Lord Winstead’s Vigilance
Thanks for joining in Stephen! I left a longer reply on your blog π
I like this story very much, Tessa. Very moving at the end even though you know (?) she’s not real. Or is she?
Welcome to FridayFlash. Can’t wait to see more.
That’s what I liked about the story. Is it just his love for his deceased daughter and his brilliance that makes the mechanical girl do what she does, or does his daughter’s spirit really possess the machine? Either way, it gives a gentle tug on the heartstring, even though you know where the story is going pretty quickly.
Stories. They have lives of their own when they fly away from the fingers of their writers. It’s great to hear what you liked about it! Thanks!
Thanks Kim! Looking forward to your stories too!
Great first tale! I’m impressed you only took two lunches to write this. Welcome to #fridayflash!
Thanks David! I’m off to check out your #flashfriday too π
LOVE this! I will admit I got a little confused by all the “he”s and “him”s just because there were several guys in the main scene, but the idea is beautiful and brilliant! If you wanted, I definitely think you could expand upon this!
Thanks for pointing it out! It could definitely use a bit of cleanup π Maybe one day it will be reincarnated in longer form.
Thanks Kristan!
The main part that looked oddly choppy to me was when Andrew says “You will damage her” then we get a new line and he says “You want her, you can keep her…” Normally, I’d have thought two different people were speaking because they were on two lines, but it was still obviously the inventor in both lines.
I agree, a little fleshing out and some revision, and this would be golden.
Noted. And thanks for the encouragement!
This gave me the chills: β…Like you did when you were a real girl.β This is a wonderful story! And such a sad ending.
Thanks Jenn!
Welcome to #fridayflash. I’m glad to see somebody so interested in criticism, and somebody with such an imagination! It’s an interesting drama you set up in this Asian steam punk world.
There is some awkward phrasing, like “The metal girl was still and silent as he gingerly wheeled her out towards” – I know what you mean by “still,” but it’s awkward to describe her as such when she’s in motion. Another pass through the descriptive parts would probably clean that all up if you wanted to try to sell it.
Thanks for taking such a close look at the story John, and for stopping by! I consider this blogging a learning experience so criticism is always welcome. Though, honestly, everyone’s been so nice it’s hard to complain π
By the way, I’ve been enjoying your Bathroom Monologues! It’s the reason I decided to try out some #fridayflash.
Wow 200 words?! I can never do that- I have serious problems with keeping my short stories short! π
But I really liked it Tessa- it stuck with me long after I finished reading it. Canβt wait for the next #fridayflash story!
I’m usually a lot more long winded! It’s hard for me to write short too π
Thanks Lua!
I like what you did with the prompt. Flash fiction is difficult to do, especially, when you want to have believable characters or at least hint at the depth as to keep the readers interested. I hope I make it to next week.
Am excited.
I hope so too. Did you read Stephen’s story? You get your own fleet of airships!
Indeed π
Markov was the perfect name for a steampunk-themed Eastern European empire.
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