Georges

Georges massaged his neck. Understandable in his situation for he had a stubborn indentation in his neck that had been there since birth. It was quite firm behind it, millions of doctors had examined it but only resulted in many false diagnosis's.

Georges paused to take in the beauty and majesty of the Chicago skyline, granted it was a dreary, miserable day but the bustle of cars and commuters just made the city even more warm and welcoming. People promptly strode from place to place going about their daily lives not really knowing there was magic in the air.

Georges was one of these people making his way to work, when something caught his eye. It was as if nothing else mattered in Chicago but that rusted, bronze key lying in the mouldy, musty drain. Georges furrowed his eyebrow when he saw the most peculiar thing. The key was rattling and moving about.

By now the key was clambering and hopping all over the gutter line until it stopped and did the most magical thing that has happened in human events so far. The key flew up and catapulted itself into Georges's neck indent. It was a snug fit. To his surprise the hard part of his neck indent and the key made a metallic clang. It was then that Georges realised that his neck indent was in actual fact a keyhole.

Georges then felt a searing, boiling pain in his neck and let out a bloodcurdling scream. He rushed to get the key out, accidentally turning it as he did. The key now coated in his own blood, moistened his hands with scarlet syrup. This key had caused enough trouble already, he threw it down the drain and listened to the plop that occurred a short while later. The key was gone.

By now quite a crowd of people had accumulated, all holding up their phones to record the amazing street busker we all know is Georges. He suddenly felt rigid and stiff, his eyesight had turned yellow and he felt as if his eyes were being pushed back into his skull. He attempted to wipe the tears out of his sunken eyes. Why was his arm taking so long to get there? The answer is simple, the gears were turning to slow. Which isn't surprising because the key had turned him into a fully functional automaton (an early form of robot), the only thing that made him remotely human was his skin which was stretched over millions of cogs and gears.

Nothing really changed in the world after Georges was turned into an automaton. It was on the news for a week then no one cared. He was blessed with a beautiful wife and son who was not a robot, but he did have his fathers intent. Anthony they called him, he became successful and three days before he was about to move to New York, Georges's cogs stopped.

NEW YORK CITY 5 YEARS LATER
Anthony rubbed his neck. Something caught his eye, it was a bronze key. How curious-it was rattling.

© 2014 C.A. Everett