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Tales From the Storyteller's Deck: Major Arcana

General Fiction

☆ 2nd place in the Atheist + Devout Awards 2022 short stories/poetry category ☆ Short stories inspired by the meanings behind tarot cards. Expect tales of any genre featuring any number of worlds.

#fantasy #science-fantasy #sciencefiction #shortstory #shortstorycollection #tarot

The Fool

45 5 4

by August-Persona

by August-Persona

Frankenstein's Machine

My vision was blinking from left to right - grainy green; then dim, colorful, out of focus. Grainy green; dim, colorful, becoming clearer. Grainy green; dim, colorful, clear. Blinking. Darkness again.
   Someone tired cursed my damned eyes. My internal machinations processed the tone of voice, registered that there was audible anger directed at me, and as protocol dictated initiated the correct response: fear.
   Once initiated, fear protocal requires the body to perform physical reactions which include wailing and limb-flailing. My vision flickered back on again using the dim colorful eye, and now I could see arms and hands and legs, made of metal and flesh, flapping violently and pushing me away from the man with the tired voice.
   "No no no! Shit!" The man reached out and grabbed hold of my neck. "Got that wrong too," he groaned, and pressed a button just behind the base of my skull. My body went limp. Fear protocol stopped. Sight flickered out. Everything turned off.

6 hours later

My vision blinks on. I think this is a mistake. At least sight is working properly now. Father is typing on a computer. There are cords plugged into my head. Father is doing some work on me, and I know he is because my thoughts feel different. They are more complex now, and the delay is gone. I also recognize the tired voice as Father. Father is nice. I do not think he was mad at me, I think he was just mad that my sight was being finnicky. Finnicky. I see Father has downloaded some funny words to my vocabulary. I like that.
   I do not think my sight should be on right now. Father is still working on me, and given that my body is paralyzed and the rest of my senses (except for sight) are off, I wonder if I am supposed to be conscious right now. Father finishes his computer work, removes the cords from my head, and then looks down at me with a frown. I do not like frowns. His lips are moving. I think he is saying something important. If I managed to get sight on, maybe I can turn on audio as well? I'll try, sneakily, to turn audio back on.
   A long boop I know only I can hear resounds. External audio is on.
   ". . . just have it destroyed . . . this is a disturbing creation . . . I'll take care of it in the morning . . ." Father looks around the Laboratory longingly. He looks at me longingly, and yet with fear as well. I know what fear feels like. I do not like fear. What have I done to make him fear me? My heart pounds. Mutual fear has been detected, and when there is such an excess of fear there is conflict. He said he should have me destroyed. Destroyed. I hope Father does not mean that. Why would he go to such lengths to create me, if only to destroy me? But I prepare for all the worst scenarios.
   Father walks out of the Laboratory. He leaves my lying here. I do not move, because I do not want to get in trouble; but as with sight or audio, I think I may be able to do something about the paralysis myself, if it comes to that.

3 hours later

Father is not back. I've been staring at the ceiling for a long time, and I feel stirrings of impatience and loneliness. Does Father not love me anymore? A tear rolls down my right cheek, and then I here a whine, followed by little sobs. I need to switch to a different pathway, but I am stuck. Does Father not love me anymore? turns into Father does not love me anymore, and little sobs turn into huge wails. The sound echoes off the Laboratory walls. It is extraordinarily loud. Still, the noise does not summon Father to me.
I must be loved.
My prerogative dictates I must resolve this error. Paralysis is automatically overridden. I stand up from where I was lying, a large metal table which screeches as I get off of it, and I walk out of the Laboratory. The search for Father and the resolution to this error begins.

2 hours later

It took longer than I had predicted to find Father. I had to stop to record any information I found about Father that was not already provided, in order to aid my search. This meant I had to stop at every family portrait, every desk with every document regarding Father, to download the information. None of these downloads turned out to be essential for finding Father. Still, I did not delete any of it. I also had difficulty getting up the stairwell to the second floor of this residence. I went slow because my legs kept getting jammed up.
   I eventually found Father asleep in a room very far from the Laboratory. I'm standing at the doorway right now, waiting for him to wake up. Father is not waking up.
   I tune my voice to a whisper, and ask Father to wake up.
   He does not wake up.
   Hot tears well up in my colorful eye, and I whisper once more, though my voice warbles and it is difficult to keep volume balanced: "Father, wake up."
   He does not wake up.
   Maybe I need to display affection towards him, and then he will acknowledge me and the error will be resolved? I walk up to where he lies, and lift Father up into a hug. Father jolts awake, screams, and struggles to get away from me because I am very strong. Father hits me.
   Against my will, he is released. Father runs away from me and out of the room. I try to run after him, but I almost trip on the stairwell. I must stop running so I do not fall. I slow to a walk, but even so I still manage to trip and fall down the stairs. My head hits something and I scream.

10 hours later

I am still waiting at the stairwell for Father to return.