Dominic was a short young lad. His jolly disposition played opposite to the many knives that switched about within the recesses of his inbound circumstances. His carved patent of excessive longing bolstered an impressive array of silver intricacy. All Insatiable upon the lured attributes of knowledge and undefined human dealings within his laborious intentions.
For he studied for the sake of it.
The passion of it.
The decision and assembling of it.
His cautious drudging of the books in the private parlor presented their bodies to him in a wealth of predefined information. His teased eyes batting silver lashes as the mechanical properties adjusted perfectly to assess his surroundings. Holey trousers snuggled tightly amidst his legs and feet that cradled a pair of old rusty shoes. His insides which consisted of bolts, gears, sprockets, and metal plating sprung to life in an infinite shwaray of internal engaging. There eccentric moaning cackling lightly upon the momentum-fueled turning of the parade of metallic oddities. their teeth spewed forth balanced on a teetered trail of a treasure endured guiding of a pace that was unbroken. Black beam pipes embraced by liquid fusion canisters plastered their merciless haul that was ejected as soot from the small foot of the boy's right leg. Its by-product of the fuel that trained repressive power dampened its filler onto the street near where his foot stood quietly. His blue eyes dabbled within thousands of complexities. The harnessed equation of finite motors ejected their complimented pathways of interconnecting gaskets and polished silver ridges. The abstract computations beveled amidst the dual centrifuge of light. Its various mirroring articulating the precise measurements to relay the distorted image into the hands of its neural processor. Reassembling bit by bit the Hi-Fi miracle that stood in perfect color. In lifelike shades that refracted and absorbed certain frequencies. A tomb of esteemed mechanics hid vibrantly beneath torn jeans and blue weathered flannel. The distilled pressuring balancing the proper steam that married its movements upon the boys forward motion.
His tongue was made of razors.
Abscessed steel that formed its hidden functioning. Sharpened and hoisted for the final preparation but left silently within as the surgeon no longer could perform the operation. His mouth drew shut upon the sadness that formed a shallow frown. No recompence to the lingering situation of what lay within. For it was forgotten just like the little boy. On a shelf by a mirror by a window......
alone......
YOU ARE READING
Dominic Razortung
HorrorA mechanical boy grows up in aloneness. His tongue is made of razors, his body steel and bolts. He is an orphan. His father lays cold and lifeless at his work table. Day after day the young robotic boy waits for his mother to return. Some day mother...
