Day 53: 27 – “Write for exactly 27 minutes. No interruptions.”
I don’t remember the day I arrived here. Nobody does. It seems that I have been here my whole life, but exactly how long that has been is anybody’s guess. Some humans think I may have been born here, but most people don’t believe that theory. After until we have proof, it is just that a theory.
I remember being five and a half years old, but only vaguely. I remember a strong sensation coming over me that I don’t belong here. I knew I was adopted. I could not figure out why the humans who despised me would adopt me. Maybe they receive a special award for taking me in of the streets. Maybe underneath their wicked hearts there was something the humans call compassion. That too is a theory, but it cannot be tested because those people all died.
I think I have a clearer memory of being seven. I remembered that I was unwanted. I was not loved. I remember some of my parts felt like factory rejects thrown together to keep me barely alive. Some of my parts were broken by the human family. Family is not the correct work. I am not sure what the word is for people who live in the same house, sometimes, and hate each other and abuse each other. I am sure it is not called family. Prisoners might be a better word.
The prisoners were not the kind in the jails. These prisoners wanted to be in the same house. I did not want to be there. I was always willing to leave, but they would catch me and make me return. I was the prisoner in the jailhouse.
I am not human. I am the robotboy. I am actually the sad robotboy. I am always sad because my factory parts were broken one day. Actually, that is not true either. The parts were broken over a period of time. They were never completely repaired. Some of the parts were glued back on and other parts were taped with a single slice of Scotch tape, but it was the KMart brand of Scotch tape that is really cheap and doesn’t last long.
Nobody could afford Scotch brand. They had more important things to buy with the money they had received from some unknown source. They had to buy steaks, expensive clothing, horses, women, alcohol, drugs, and whatever things they needed. I was not given any of those things so I continually sat in a corner in disrepair. Ignored and dusty like a bookshelf in a widower’s home filled with old knick knacks collected on holidays in past years.
First the heart rusted. They blood flowed into the drain of the bathtub on night. The brain were next. They stopped thinking of the future that could have been and they got stuck on the past that shouldn’t have happened. Everything shutdown.
I became rusty on the inside. I could not feel love. I had become something that was programmed by someone else. My spirit floated away from my body. I imagine it is somewhere far, far away in space by now. Perhaps it was sucked into a black hole. Maybe he is happier living a life I could not imagine.
Excerpt From: Scott Green. “397 Journal Writing Prompts & Ideas.” Apple Books.
an ocean roars 