Thing a Day

by Rennoc215

The Automaton

Thing a Day: The Automaton

Tick, tick, tick. The heart beating sounds so muck like a clock. The steady, soft rythm, so similar to the feel of a pocketwatches' rapid coiling and release. Thump thump, tick tick.

Another step takes me closer to my unseen destination. I don't remember how long I've been out here, I can't seem to remember past a few days. Forward left, back right, forward right, back left. Over and over. A monotonous process. Repetative and steady, with a simple beat. Step, step, tick, tock.

I look down at my corroded legs. I think they've always been that corroded, that nice mossy green color, but every now and then I can see them as a bright brown, glinting in the sunlight. But no, maybe that's just my imagination. After all, I would be able to remember something that nice, wouldn't I?

But I look back down at my legs as they rythmically step onto the sands. Maybe I am nothing more than a machine. A collection of whirring parts, each interlocked and creating motion.

Tendons snap as muscle works, bringing down each hoofstep. Spinning gears cause arms to move on a clock. What defines the difference? Flesh and metal? Superficial, both. Both cause motion, though different means. One is chemical, stretching and burning stored energy, and one is mechanical, using the stored energy of a wound spring to spin a gear. So this movement isn't a defining factor.

Is it willed movement, then? I can stop walking if I need to, if something stops me, but then again, so can clockwork. When we realize a wall is in our path, we move to avoid it. When a machine hits a wall, some can change their course accordingly. Perhaps I can stop at will. I just don't want to keep walking anymore. But the question is why? What made me want to stop? Is it rain? Some pieces can stop under certain conditions, so operational movement (and lack thereof) can't be the determining factor.

Perhaps it is the drive to expand and multiply. All living things, from plants to animals, have these basic goals. Weeds spread, trees grow, and animals seek to breed. But then again, so do Viruses. Those simple chemical agents which aren't biological, and yet seek to replicate using an unsuspecting host's body. So those two are out.

What about consuming things, and producing other things? Plants consume CO2, and provide O2. We inhale O2, and exhale CO2. So repeats a similar cycle for other living things. And yet, fire breaks this line as well. Fire consumes material and O2, and it releases ashes and CO2. Is fire alive? Most would say "Nay," thus, I feel that can't be used either.

An obvious thought might be... well... thought. If something can rationalize, then it has to be alive, right? The only problem with that theory is plants. We know plants don't think, because they lack anything similar to a neural system. And, there is only one stimuli they react to, which is sunlight. So, are plant's not alive?

Step step, tick tock. My hooves keep walking to the beat of their own internal clock. I look at them and marvel at how I'm still moving. How long has it been since I did anything but walk? I... I can't remember.

A glint on the horizon draws my attention, and I crane my neck to see. Sure enough, there is a small town in the distance. The sun reflecting off the lone clock tower was what caused it to glisten, and my spirits soar. Civilization! A place with other beings to interact with! Perhaps they can help me solve my dilema.

Most others might have upped their pace, wanting to rejoin their bretheren as fast as possible, yet I keep my pace. I've been walking for as long as I can remember, a little while longer won't kill me.

I calmly walk into the town, the sun setting behind me. The few buildings are simple and rustic, and a home-y feeling starts to settle in. I smile, and keep my pace, as I head to the tower. I don't know what drew me towards that building in particular, yet a vague feeling of urgency crept around in the back of my mind.

Why pause to knock, I think as I push the door open. A brown coated stallion stands behind a counter laden with clockwork devices, his back to me. "I'm sorry, but we closed a few minutes ago. Come back tomorrow." I stop walking forward, and wait for him to turn and face me. I ponder what the polite thing to do is, but whatever it is that brought me to this place needs to be resolved soon.

"Didn't you hear me? We're closed," He says as he turns to face me. "Get ou..." He freezes mid-word as he looks at me. He takes a moment before his jaw goes slack, the pen falling from between his teeth. He stares at me, eyes wide open and blankly watching. I look at myself, making sure that something isn't wrong. I didn't lose a leg, did I? A quick check soothes me, assuring that my legs are all in place. I check everything else to make sure nothing is missing.

Eyes? Check. Head, check, body, check, legs, check. Face? Check. Then, I turn and double check my back, and I see what it is that he might be staring at: the large silver key handle stcking out of my green back. I look at him, and try to realize what has him so stunned. I've always had the key in my back, haven't I... yes, yes I have. It's always been there, same as my legs and face and head. I turn back and see that that it's spinning slowly, softly turning to the whirring of my heart. A much smoother rotation than the rapid clicking from within my chest.

So what's wrong? I look over at him and realize something: He doesn't have one. Not even one of a different color, he's lacking one completely. I turn back and look at my own again and a thought passes me by: Was it always spinning so slowly? A quick memory check tells me otherwise, and suddenly I feel... afraid. What would happen if it stopped spinning?

I try to reach it, to push it faster, but my legs don't bend that way, and I can't seem to reach it. Panic flares through me as I ponder whether or not this is my end. Then, by an angel's grace, a savior reaches past me and grasps the key. But wait, what are they doing? They pull the key in the wrong direction, and it makes the most terrifying, off beat "tock" sound.

I thrash, scared out of my mind. What did that do? Did it signal my death? Was it the goulcaller's bell, the tone of my demise? I look at the stallion I threw to the ground, worry splashing across my brain, blotting out the fear I held for myself. Is he alright? But look, he stirrs. Peace floods my mind, as I take a deep breath.

"Hold still, I'm only winding you up." He says as he reaches across my back and pulls the key again. He twists it the wrong direction, it clicking several more times before it stops turning, and he releases it. It starts spinning the right way again, and at the older, more upbeat pace wich it used to hold.

"There, all wound. Now, where did you come from?" He asks, stepping back. I point out, back behind me, into the desert which I wandered in from. "The desert? There has to be someplace before that. Can't you remember?" He asks, frustration crossing his face. I shake my head no, and withdraw slightly, trying to look apologetic. "Ah well," He sighs. "You're here now. Maybe you can help around the shop," He offers, cheerfully. "The name is Cog. And you are?"

That's an excellent question. Who am I? The truth is, I really can't remember any name from before the desert, if there ever was a before the desert. I shrug, and he smiles wearily. "That's alright. Let's see if we can't find you a name..." He says, before he begins listing off possible names. None of them sounds right, until he says "Automaton?" Then it clicks. Automaton sounds perfect, so I smile and nod.

He smiles, happy to help, and says "Well, Automaton, here's to good luck and a bright future!"

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Was there ever a time before the workshop? I can't remember. My whole life feels like the past few days, and all of them have been with this great clockmaker, Cog. We see eye to eye on a number of things, and I can't remember us ever fighting. Occasionally, he'll ask me, "Remember the day we met?" but I always shake my head no. Haven't we always known each other?

But alas, eternity seems not to be. Today, a young buck and his friends came by while I was manning the front. Like most of the other little ones, they marveled at my nice, shining copper coat and silver key (Cog often jokes at how silly I looked green, but I was never green, was I? No, I'd remember something like that). But the biggest just looked at me with scorn. "How can you even do this? It's not like you're alive or anything."

That had really sent my world spinning. I've always considered myself alive, but what says I'm not? The fact that I'm made of copper and steel, and he's flesh and bone?

I decided I needed a long walk. I left a note in Cog's bedroom that afternoon, while he was out doing errands, explaining my dilema. I opened the door, looked to the sides, picked a direction, and started walking. I should keep count of how many day's I've been out, thinking. Maybe Cog will still be there when I come back.

One.

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Three hundred sixty five thousand, seven hundred and thirty. Why am I counting the number of times I see the sun rise, again? I can't remember, but I don't remember skipping any numbers. I watch as my green hooves steadily impact the sand. Step step, tick tock.

Ah well, back to the question at hoof. What does it mean to be alive? Flesh and bone? Copper and Steel? What defines the lines?

And so the cycle begins anew.

Author's Note:

I'll be honest with you all. I have a personal insight which often makes people around me seem worried. Everything I do is a response. It's almost always something I use to invoke a response. Usually, I'm trying to make other's feel good, so it generally is a good thing. The only problem is that I can't be spontaneous, or at least I can't most of the time. Everything is structured, organized, and simple. It keeps me working, so I play along, but at the same time, I sometimes feel like that's all I am: a machine. So that brought me to my question. Alive, what does it mean? Are we being literal, as in "X is alive," or spiritual, as in "X has a soul, so X is alive." What does the concept of life mean? Because, on a physical side, a pocket watch might be considered alive because it is moving, wheras, on a spiritual side, a tree might not be considered alive.

Sorry about my rant. Hopefully, something more upbeat tomorrow.