The Fallen Children


The Fallen Children

The Directors were very much like the police, yet, they held more inspective objectives rather than authoritive or protective. The common Director was like a tax collector, although, the business between a citizen and a Director was quite mutually compressed in the matters of robotic ownership and property, and financial insurance. But, a customary encounter with a Director was like meeting the unholy of unholies. Every time they come, the situation is tense. I have seen what a regular Director is truely about: money, power and utter terrorism. Such terrorism is not of the agressive and monarchal manner, but the overwhelming intimidation of their general status in the society of the new Americas. I saw it every time I unfortunately met a Director, or a Policy officer. On Tuesday, I was visited by a suited man, an official, a Director. He was quite fair and uniformed, and seemed as if he was meant for business. My spirit dropped every time I met these people, and yet it seemed like they were pleasured crudely by their presence among the lay people. This man came to speak business of my machine automaton; Charlie. Charlie was about the same form of a toaster, with networks of wires under its metal shell. Quite small for a modern day marvel, it was almost all of a luxury that I could afford.

As long as I paid Charlie's coverage, taxes and other insurances, I was allowed to keep it in my home. ''Just keep paying and you might not lose Charlie to the government.'', I was told once by my friend. Days went, a stranger feeling on one day than the one before. I saw machines walking somewhat effortlessly and vacantly along streets and people. Some were rather unhuman and were mere grotesque bins with legs. I saw the garbage-picker gather the garbage from my sidewalk by the street with one scoop and dropping it into a shaft on the frontal face. These things were everywhere, in open public, in maintanance, in minor service or labor of the most ellaborate of chores.

After dining at a restaurant, Manhattan was under rain. The streets down along, crowded by buildings and apartments, were still crowded by rushing people and congested traffic. The machines simply went on in their own businesses, resistant to the rushing rain. I arrived at my home

The End

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