THE ROBOTIC ANT

Chapter 8

More than the crowd chirpings, I was not expecting any more sounds, at least not a siren. After all of the headaches, there was finally something interesting! Whenever I hear a siren, I always become excited. Once, during an old neighbour's death, I heard a siren from the ambulance. I was so happy, I almost kept smiling throughout her funeral. If someday Emergency is declared, I would be the first to come to the street to find out what is happening.

Among the distracting red and blue flashes, there was police and media and a crowd had gathered around.

"What do you think Scoot?"

"How do I know? Let's check it out."

We tore through the crowd of uninvolved people. It can't be tough if you can tolerate a couple of elbows hitting your bones and a couple of people stepping on your feet. It felt like a victory when we reached front but the award we were getting was quite unsatisfactory. I was happy, not exactly but yeah, I was happy. But, it wasn't the same case with Scoot. He was overwhelmed, dazed away by what was front him. I was sad for him. I really didn't feel like being sad for him but as a brother, at least I had to act sad for him. Down there, fumes coming out from the bonnet, glasses shattered to infinite pieces and the top crashed like some deadly accident it had suffered, stood his beloved van at its last seconds. Every sheet of metal that was torn was turned insides like it was some giant bullet hole. Something came crashing towards it. Police had discovered the owners of the van. They were taking out details from Scoot but he looked like he was in no mood of talking. I walked a few slow steps towards it leaning over the parameters bound by the crime scene ribbons. This time, I had a peek of the inside of the van. The seats were torn but it wasn't the thing that was disturbing me. It was no bullet that destroyed it. It was no accident that damaged it. I was white from toe to head as I sighted the thing that had crashed into the van. It lay dead and motionless between the seats, one arm ripped and body shattered with many pieces broken apart, sparks coming from every part of it, a body. Not human. Not living. It was a Robot that blew my mind and every of my thinking capacities to figure out anything.

"Seen enough? Now get going!" Police pushed us away. Not just verbally, but seriously, they pushed us. The way the policeman was pampering the ribbon, he didn't push us to prevent a chaos, but he didn't wish to us to rip the ribbons.

As most likely to be, his wallet was out of cash. And I was not paying double notes for a taxi at GrandWood. Like two drunken burglars after breaking from a private bank, we walked the footpath of the empty streets, yet a car or two passing by every minute.

If there is anything that can measure the brain speed, then I could prove that my brain was running at a speed of 300 kmph right now. There was nothing that I could stop thinking about that Robot. And I don't know why, but my mind was linking all of this to the Robomech Exhibition. Much to disbelief, yet a quite extraordinary thought, what if the Robot ATTACKED the vehicle? A night with dark clouds and pollution can bring one such ideas, but busted van and that Machine, it looked like no accident.

It was a long day and I wouldn't wish it to be any longer. I had not checked upon the time but roughly, it seemed we must have completed twice a mile of journey. Not much, we just had to walk 15 times of now. Flashes of that Robot were still haunting me. I was thinking about telling Scoot about the Robot but he was critically thrilled about his dearly loved van's demise. His face was telling that he was going to keep a funeral of his late van. It was useless telling him anything right now. After of like one hour of muteness, he had finally spoken a word. Now, I felt, now was time to tell him about that Robot.

"It might be a little hard...for your little brain to adjust...but the crash...it was...it was...it was done by a Robot!" I said it in a single go. Okay, I didn't say in a single go. "Yeah, maybe." He was still in trauma. It gets on my head when people half-listen to me. But, he seemed really distressed and I would let him go this time. He does it for a second time and I would climb over his shoulders and pluck off every hair he owes. I raised my brows to peek at his brows. He was mumbling something, most probably speaking to himself. From what I could make out, he said¾ "This day cannot be any worse."

"Hmm...Probably...This day cannot be any worse." For the first time, I didn't feel like opposing him. But who knew what could be the cost my statement. Maybe...Maybe, this day was not getting cleared off so quickly.