STORY TIME

[ Open Starter / Aster Auto / Present / Any time of day that suits! ]

He looks at his hand, beneath the smudges of oil and grease, calloused fingertips that could curl so easily in on themselves to become a fist.  A weapon.  A tool of retribution.  But that’s not where his gaze lingers.   

Sitting right there in the centre of his palm.  Somehow mocking him with every glimpse - a lifeline.  

What is life if not a simple bundle of electrical energy?  The same thing that imbued lightening bugs with their incandescent glow.  That caused the flowers ( fewer and further between though they were ) to swivel in the dirt and turn to face the sun.  

What’s the difference?  Between those and the flickering filament of a filthy light bulb.  Of the static that hissed from a faulted broadcast, speakers crackling at the hiss of words.  

And just as a spark can – j u m p – can crack down from the heavens from sky to earth with violent ferocity in those flashes from a storm, or a crackle against skin, a build of charge from the rustle and rub of some cheap manmade fabric – isn’t it possible that life can do the same?

That it can – j u m p?

He wonders if maybe they all had a dose of some governmental experimental drug as children to be experiencing these bizarre night tales ( a theory rapidly quashed, given the relative global spread of the people in Bend ).  Maybe aliens then.  It could happen.  But given his penchant for the practical, the tangible and the ‘real’, he’s not about to suggest that Arthur is a product of E.T and some kind of freakish anal probing.  He can’t imagine that aliens would be either that detailed, or that imaginative.

So now he’s stuck.  With this dumbass – theory of static.   Of some kind of energy that leaps across time.  Or rips holes in it.  

Damn, now that has a flavour of the crazies about it.  Maybe E.T. was the more convincing explanation. Or maybe he was just a moron.  

Giving those dreams more meaning than they deserved.  It was hard not to.  When he was - there.  When he was Arthur, tasting his life, breathing it in, feeling the weight of a sword in his hand, the fatigue of battle in his bones… It sure as hell felt real.

Not really thoughts he should be dwelling on.  Distracted by.  

Right now, he’s the reflection of a succulent sinner, kneeling at an altar of his own making.  Head bowed as if in worship to some god of metal.  A sacrifice, perhaps… similar in those motions.  Though he’s not taking a life to pay tribute to a long dead deity, he’s restoring it.  Wires that twist and turn through innards now gleaming.  A nervous system without sentience.  Oil that pumped through a central system, gold and gleaming, a slick life giver - heart and veins.  All encased in sturdy steel, boned axle and gleaming chrome.

The job is finished and it’s good.  Spectacular, even if he says so himself.  ( Maybe his dad would be… proud… )  Standing to wipe his hands on a ragged cloth that probably just added to the stains already ingrained into those calloused fingers.  Only then, getting the impression that he’s no longer alone in the front of the workshop, door ( as usual ) open wide to any customer who wanted to wander in.  He has no clue if they’ve been there for ten seconds or ten minutes.

“Hey.”

Swivelling on one heel with a nod of acknowledgement.

“You need help with something?”

Despite her extensive vocabulary, the only way in which she could describe the day was to simply call it poor. It was not the worst afternoon of her life, but a series of unfortunate event had occurred. A near half-mile away from where she had walked, her car sat on the side of the road, forcing out plumes of dark smoke in an attempt to keep some motor function going. It was an old thing and she had got it cheap. Serves her right!

Just five more minutes, she tells herself in a pant. Her shoes had always been practical, at least until she was forced to walk miles in search of assistance. 

If she were still in England she might have been able to call someone, although her list of contacts was certainly short. There was no one really in Bend to come to her aid, which was fortunate really. Amelia had no interest in being a mere damsel in distress! 

In the distance she can see the tell-tale sign of the automobile shop, which she had driven past earlier that morning. That was when she had been heading to the university campus, since then she had left and encountered the difficulties which she now faced. 

Even her students frowned at her choice of car. 

Amelia bent, holding her hip and let out a frustrated sigh. She seriously needed to be more active. 

“ Get a new car, Amelia, ” she grumbles, wiping the sweat from her brow. She appeared to be anything but ladylike. Perhaps, that is why others avoided her...or why she avoided them. 

For the rest of the journey, she limped in her sensibly heeled shoes. Her keychain jingled in her hand, adding to the frustration which she felt. Upon entering, she was quick to clear her throat. Amelia certainly did not want to startle anyone by being a shadow in the corner. 

“ Ah yes, I need some help. My car broke down a mile back and I’m a bit helpless when it comes to that kind of thing. ”