SHORT FICTION BY ELISE COOLEY

RAIN AND CIRCUIT BOARDS

Love wasn’t something Matthew thought he could feel. He preferred isolation from everyone. Except, of course, his machines.

The first time he thought he might have felt love, he was fifteen. The subject of the feeling was a tiny robot that had no function other than moving backward or forward. It had eyes and a smile drawn on in permanent market.

And yet, affection wrote itself across his heart.

Every new machine afterwards increased the feeling. He loved what his hands could create, what his mind would dream up.

In his years of early adulthood, he created robot after robot, each better and smarter than the last. By the time he was thirty, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d spoken to a real person. He liked that just fine. He preferred the voices in his head anyways. Besides, the voices he gave to his machines were really an extension of those internal voices.

Gaia was his final creation.

She was perfect. He’d switched her on and the first thing she said was, “Who are you?” He’d been so startled that he’d fallen backwards, tripping over a tool box. And she’d just laughed. He’d never heard a robot laugh before.

As perfect as she was, Gaia was always trying to convince him to make friends. He told her time and time again that all the friends he needed, he could build himself.

What good would other people be when he could make the perfect person out of metal and wires?

From where Gaia sat on a box of old gears, she asked, “Are you truly happy here? In this small apartment by yourself with no one but me to talk to?”

He focused on the circuit board in front of him. He didn’t like how she could get into his head. “I am perfectly content, my dear. You are an excellent conversationalist.” Though he knew it wasn’t true, it seemed she had her own way of thinking and talking. In truth, it was just her complex code teaching itself. She was real enough to him.

Gaia walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, “You are unhappy, Matthew. You are so used to it that you don’t feel it anymore. You’ve been alone so long.”

Words clipped, he replied, “That is how I like it. Nerves and wires.” He told her that often. Nerves can hurt, wires only fritz.

Gaia sighed, a whirring mechanical sound. “You need a change. You need to see something other than these walls and these machines. In order to live a full life, you need to be around the living.” She touched his wrinkled cheek. Despite his nearly seven decades, he didn’t have many crow’s feet, only deep creases on his brow and forehead. “Please, let’s go somewhere new.”

It wasn’t her fault that he’d chosen the forest. It was his idea. She said he needed to be around life. Forests were nothing but life. Gaia had been disappointed, she wanted him to be around people. He thought himself awfully clever at the work around.

It was his punishment to watch his most beautiful creation turn to rust.

Rain pounded down onto the forest. Dark clouds rolled overhead like a shroud cloaking a widow in mourning. It had started the week after Gaia and Matthew found themselves in an abandoned cabin. Water poured in through the cracks in the ceiling, but he repaired them as quickly as possible.

It worked for some time. Not long enough.

See, there was something he forgot when he chose to venture into the forest. Rain was unforgiving. And when the rainy season started, it didn’t stop for months. It came down on them every single day. It eroded the roof of their home bit by bit.

Within weeks, Gaia began to rust. She laughed it off at first, saying that he didn’t need to worry about a machine when he was only fragile flesh and blood. “It’s just like your scars, Matthew, nothing more.”

Rust spread to Gaia’s joints first. Her elbows and fingers became creaky, her knees took far too long to bend. Yet, she told him, “Now my knees are just as bad as yours.” Matthew laughed despite himself. The situation was growing dire, yet he was still able to smile, only because of Gaia.

“We should try to make it to civilization,” Matthew said a day or so later. Gaia could no longer move her legs. Her voice box was starting to crackle with static. Matthew wasn’t fairing much better. Sickness came over him. It rattled his lungs with every breath. He could feel himself growing weaker every day.

Gaia just smiled at him, “We cannot, Matthew. We are too far and too alone.” Matthew couldn’t remember the last time that alone was a bad thing. Alone always meant quiet and peace. For the first time, he truly understood what alone meant. There was no one to help him and Gaia.

“And I won’t be able to make it back without you as my guide,” Matthew responded. His wrinkled face met her and he smiled as well. “Just as well, I suppose. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you.” He touched her metal cheek. “This is all my fault.” Gaia’s metal eyelid started to slip closed over one eye. “I should have listened to you.”

Matthew thought himself an awful man. He was so determined to be alone that he sentenced himself and Gaia to die in the forest. That was what he rued the most. His most beautiful creation was to be destroyed because he kept himself.

Gaia watched him. His hands shook. His fingertips were pruned. A furrow never left his wrinkled brow. Gaia could feel the water slipping between her metal plating and inching towards the circuit boards that kept her whirring.

Gaia stopped his hand as he was reaching towards her with a towel. He looked at her with wide eyes, “Gaia, you need to let me—”

“No.” She smiled softly and lowered their joined hands. “I don’t need to let you do anything.”

“Now is not the time for this, Gaia.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Now is the time for me to say goodbye and to let you go.” Rain trickled into the joint between her shoulder and chest. “Will you allow me a few words?”

Matthew looked stunned. Gaia took that as permission. “You are a good man. I have seen it. After all, how could a bad one create something so wonderful as I?” There was water on his cheeks, but it could have been rain or tears. “You think I am a perfect creation and it was your mind that created me. Does that not make your mind beautiful? And you by extension?”

Matthew looked down at his hands. “Gaia, I have never been—”

She shushed him, the sound a whir of mechanical air. “You are so bright. I only wish you could see that.”

The glowing light in her eyes flickered once. Twice. And then was gone.

She left Matthew alone in his self-made purgatory. Bright. He had never really seen himself as anything but dull and uninteresting. Yet his own creation called him bright and beautiful and wonderful. Maybe if he thought the same about himself, he wouldn't have hidden himself away. He could have shared his creations, perhaps there was someone else out there who would find them as lovely and fascinating as he did.

But in all his lifetime, he didn’t. So Matthew lifted his face towards the cloudy sky and closed his eyes.