Notes on The Final Creation of Sir Alfred Worthington III
a warm waterproof hip-length jacket usually with a hood, originally worn in polar regions, but now worn for any outdoor activity
(informal, derogatory) a socially inept person with a hobby considered by most people to be boring
Sir Alfred Worthington III coughed as he tightened the final screw of his new automaton. He covered his mouth with a handkerchief, catching the flecks of blood that came with each rattling bark.
The machine stood approximately 183 centimeters tall and resembled a teenaged boy. When fully functional it could walk, talk, and perform over one thousand functions. These ranged from complex mathematical equations to Herculean feats of strength. Its eyes functioned in a rudimentary way, differentiating between dark and light and detecting outlines. They could also transform into a projector, capable of beaming three dimensional images into its environs.
It had taken months to complete, each day a race against the illness that sapped his strength and stole the breath from his lungs.
Worthington pulled a golden key from his pocket, inserting it into a slot on the automaton’s head. He smiled as the machine sprung to life.
The automaton stood, blinking its eyes.
“I will live in you,” Worthington whispered.
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Comments (1 so far!)
Average reader rating 5.00/5
Metaphor? It'd be awesome if he had a second key that he stuck in his own head that, with a little twist, somehow moved his consciousness over to the automaton. :)
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