It Only Takes A Moment

Put on your Sunday Clothes

You would think that being one of the last of his kind would make Alfred at least a little depressed. After all, the people just left him and millions of his relatives here to clean up while they were off doing... something. Somewhere.

He remembered when the city he was in was swarming with them, all scooping up trash, building skyscrapers after skyscraper out of garbage. Then, one by one, their treads wore out or their lens broke, and they just wasted away, joined the trash they'd been made to clean up. How ironic. How poetic.

Then again, Alfred wasn't sure why he knew what irony and poetry were. They was just feelings. No-one else seemed to have feelings, either. While it was a bit lonely, he didn't miss them or their straight-ahead stares and blank expressions.

When he found a husk of of them, he salvaged whatever parts they had that looked like they still worked. He regularly changed his treads and swapped out parts when the world seemed fuzzy or he couldn't feel his fingers. He'd learned from them, and that was probably the only reason he was still functioning.

It wasn't just spare parts he collected, though. On a hill, there was a transport that once carried hundreds like him. It was a place for them to go when a dust storm kicked up, but as time went on, less and less and less of them came until it was just him, and he took to stashing little gadgets he found there. Things that glowed or shone or spun or clicked or sang.

He'd found his name in a colourful thing, actually. It seemed to tell the story of a man in black who beat up other, brighter people. Alfred was his helper, and since he was helping the people by cleaning up their home, he thought the name fit.

Speaking of his home, the sun was setting. He should get back soon. He whistled and Tony leapt up onto his shoulder.

Okay, so maybe he did get a little lonely, because his best friend was a cockroach. He'd found Tony's name in a colourful thing, too; he'd accidentally stepped on him many times, so the name of a man with a metal suit was perfect.

Alfred pressed a button on his tape recorder, another trinket he'd found, and hummed along gleefully as he walked.

"Put on your Sunday clothes, there's lots of world out there..."

As he made his way down what used to be a highway and stared out at a field of brown and grey, he smiled to himself. The world was a beautiful place and he was glad to be in it. He just wished he had someone like him to share it with.

Just as the sun crossed the horizon and the dusty sky turned from dusty orange to mauve, Alfred crossed the threshold of his home and flicked a switch, which turned the lights inside from industrial white to electric blue.

Compartments on the wall made to hold things like him were now filled with thumbtacks, rubber ducks, boots, books, wrapped cakes (for Tony), garden gnomes, and whatever else he found, all organised by shape and presumed purpose. He opened the cooler he was carrying and placed the items inside where they belonged: light bulbs with light bulbs, a spork between the spoons and the forks, and a multicoloured cube with... um... the dice and building blocks.

He switched on an iPod he'd found, and it began to play the musical the song earlier was from. He squinted to see the video, so he pulled a larger screen over it to magnify it. He leaned against a nearby shelf, smiling to himself as he watched the little people dance and sing merrily.

Satisfied, he turned to get a pastry for Tony. After wrestling with the packaging for a bit, he finally got it open, and the insect dashed for it. He didn't see why. After all, it wasn't like he was going to eat.

He noticed a change in the tempo of the music, so he turned to look at the screen again. Two people were holding hands and singing to each other.

"And that is all that love's about..."

Love. Alfred felt many things, but he couldn't say he'd ever experienced love. He enjoyed having Tony around, but the cockroach didn't have hands to hold or eyes he could gaze into. He wondered if he could find someone he could sing to like that. He wove his hands together, and wondered what it would look like, what it would feel like if it was someone else's hand he was holding.

Alfred sighed switched the iPod off. He shut the transport door in case of dust storms, then stretched out across one of the shelves. He struggled to think of something other than how alone he really was.

You have tigerrad to blame for this one again. I really need to stop presenting ideas to her, because she just goes "WRITE IT PLEASE" and soon I've completely forgotten whatever I was working on before.
I'll try to keep this one going, though. If not, please message me and remind me.
Stay crispy.