Re-shock

part eight

A few weeks later

After that day, Wilford had been acting really strange. He ignores me more, distances himself and throws himself into his work of inventing.

He inherited the skill from his father, being able to create new things from seemingly nothing. I know it was stupid, but I sometimes feared he'd make another robot, to replace me.

He's also become more abusive, I don't think a day goes by that I don't have a new scratch or dent on my body. At least he's taking it out on me and not other humans anymore.

But the funny thing Is, after he does whatever he does, kick me or punch me square in the face or something along that line... he always looks so devastated and broken, like I'm the that hit him.

I was honestly getting worried about my master, I know I shouldn't. I should be happy that the man finally grew a conscience and feels bad for hurting me. But it still bothers me.

Wilford was currently in his workshop, working on a steampowered owl. I was busy making him some lunch, him being so caught up in work that he sometimes forgets to take care of himself.

I walk to his workshop, steak sandwich and orange juice in hand and set it on one of the tables, out if the way.

"Enjoy your lunch master," I said cheerily as I looked  at him. He merely hummed in response, not even looking at me as he continued working.

I stayed there, biting my lip awkwardly and looking around the room.

He must be noticed it because he finally sighed and stood up, stretching his body and making a few joint pop.

He walked over to the table next to me and began eating the sandwich. He turned and leaned on the counter, standing close enough to me that I could feel his body heat radiating off of me. Why did that make me so flustered and embarrassed.

"S-so... how's your owl coming along," I stammered. He didn't seem to notice as his face lit up and he shuffled back to his work bench, dragging me along like a child that wants their mother to buy something.

He's always like this, looking so dull and dead normally but seeming to light the whole room up when you even mention his work.

"I think I've finally figured out the problem of why it can't fly. The metal I used, although much lighter than most, is still too heavy for it to pick itself off," he said excitedly as he read over the notes to me that he always kept in a little diary book.

"So you took off some of the metal and replaced some things with lighter objects?" I asked him.

"Exactly!" He said happily, a smile on his face that I so rarely see nowadays.

He showed me the owl, who was perched on a little landing post, seeming asleep. It looked different from when I last saw it. Instead of all metal, it now had wings made from material so it looked even more steampunk style, designed in a way that it looked more like bat wings. It's main body and head still was made of metal, different cogs and screws everywhere.

Wilford played around with it, pressing a few buttons and twisting some handles before the metal bird seemed to whir to life. It's big eyes opened slowly, each one blinking individually.

It let out a small screech that resembled that of an owl before starting to move it's wings, stretching them out like the creature has just had a long rest instead of actually just being brought to life.

Wilford was standing beside me with a hopeful gaze, biting his lip and muttering encouraging words to it.

The owl flapped it's wings a few times, the sound of cogs and gears straining with each movement it made.