The Art of Creativity and Other Short Stories

The Farmer

The sun hung high in the sky, baring its teeth at the field below it. The sun-colored field sprouting goldenrods swayed and twirled as the wind seemed to skate across the ground. Like ants several machines could be seen holding sickles and scythes, operating tractors and plows in a uniform fashion. The acrylic black of each machines' plating absorbed the sun's teeth giving it energy to continue to move. A quick and deliberate cut with a sickle, the golden rods were free only to be caged again inside an acrylic wire basket on the machine's back.

The day trudged on and the automatons continued their march through the fields whittling down the crops one strike at a time. There was no rush as there was no need for an abundance of crops. The amount of people that lived in the surrounding areas were minimal. So the government donated a few machines; enough to feed the neighboring towns.

Enough so that no one had to work.

Enough so that the townsfolk could focus on advancing other things.

Enough so the townsfolk would forget what the government did a few years ago.

Enough so the wounds of the past would begin to heal.

Enough so.....

A cool wind brought the night as the sun set under the horizon and the moon took its place, shining brightly overhead. Like a switch the field was suddenly silent. A machine could be seen mid-swing as if the flow of time ceased to be. A low hiss could be heard as the machines let out bated breath; all agreeing today's work was done. Each machine frozen in time. Statues to behold to the world.

A few acres away, a lone figure stands in the field breathing in the cool late summer air. They stare off into the distance, eyes filled with determination. A deep breath exudes from their mouth as their eyes shut....

Dawn breaks and like the ticking of a clock the machines come to life. As if the 12 hours that went by meant nothing, the machines continued right where they left off. Though this time with a newcomer. A boy in his early teens with loose fitting robes, a sickle in one hand and a battered bag in the other, eyes fixated on the beings in front of him. His almond shaped eyes held willpower and focus a complete contrast to his disheveled hair and worn clothing. Keeping his distance from the working machines, the boy maneuvered his way to an untouched patch of wheat. With a swift motion he pulled his arm back, sickle in hand, and swung. Up came the golden grass, uprooted from its old home to find a new one in a young boy's bag. He continued his onslaught until the bag was full. Out of breath he maneuvered his way back past the machines, who paid him no mind, and stopped at a small encampment a little ways away. There he dropped off the now full bag and bent down to retrieve an empty one. Battered bag attached to his hip, he turned and with a huff maneuvered his way back.

The sun hung high in the sky, baring its teeth at the field below it. A little ways away in a small encampment five bags, full with wheat, lay waiting. Sweating the boy struggled to catch his breath, sickle now lay in the dirt as he massaged his now blistered hand. Accepting his injuries and limitations, the boy grabbed the bag and sickle in his good hand and started the trek back. It was not until he was a few yards out that he noticed something near his bags of wheat, curious he began to walk faster.

"Hello human! How are you feeling today?"

The boy stood in front of a small robot that hovered a few feet in the air. Most of the machine's body consisted of a large eye that zoomed in and out focusing on the many things around it. The boy continued to stand and stare.

"That's great! I am Observer 051699 it is a pleasure to meet you."

The robot continued to hover around the boy waiting for a response. The boy stood still almost as if he was entranced. But his eyes held his real emotion: boredom.

"Normally one would respond with their name. But I understand that some humans, who are small like you, can be shy. That's okay, but I do have another, if you would please answer: What are you doing here?"

Silence.

The boy slowly moved towards his other bags having already heard enough.

"Ahh, it would seem that I answered my own question. You are here to harvest wheat."

Silence.

"Did you know that the Agriculture Assistance Treaty, 'All agricultural projects will be done by A.I.- suited machines as a part of the Forgiveness Act'? You are not required to harvest or perform any farm-related duties at all."

The boy paused for a second face turning red, then continued to collect his bags. The robot continued as well.

"The wheat will be processed and made into bread and other wheat-based products. The food will be evenly distributed throughout various towns for your nourishment."

Nodding absentmindedly, the boy gathered as many bags as he could and continued to walk.

"Well either way have a great day!"

The robot continued to hover over the boy's disheveled encampment, staring at the boy's back as his figure slowly receded in the distance. A few minutes passed before the Observer slowly rose in the air and continued its duties watching over the other machines.

Epilogue

The moon hung high in the sky as the boy trudged his way to a small hut near a small grouping of weathered trees. Carrying what was left of the wheat he pushed the door open the chill of the inside washing over him. With quick and quiet steps he set the wheat down, lit a candle, and gathered wood to start a fire. When the fire was burning brightly, he stood up brushing himself off and with a shaky breath he began to walk to the back of the hut.

The boy stood in front of a room and an old curtain hung up as an alternative door. Sweating the boy pulled the curtain back revealing a small room with enough room to fit a bed and a wooden nightstand. But what really made the boy nervous was what lay in the bed. Under what could possibly be an infinite number of blankets was an elderly man with only his face visible. His long gray hair lay sprawled around him connected only to the sides of his head. His wrinkled and weathered face showed age and the many years and eras he's lived through and the few he had left. His eyes were by far the worst, glassy orbs stared straight at the ceiling but somehow not seeing it at all. The boy moved closer sitting on the bed. The old man's attention moved quickly from the ceiling to the boy in front of him and back to the ceiling; expression hardly changing.

"You were out pretty late again." A raspy voice broke the silence. The old man looked back at the boy who nodded all while avoiding eye contact.

"Why?"

Silence.

The bed groaned as the old man sat up leaning his back against the wall. He pulled his hands from the blankets and tapped the boy on the shoulder. The boy looked up just in time to see him sign: Why? Taking a deep breath the boy replied: I have to go retrieve food.

Shaking his head the old man replied: You don't have to do that. We get plenty of food from the neighbors.

The boy stared at the old man hesitating on what to say or rather scared to say it: I.. Grandmother would not like that we accept food that the government could have tainted. I'm doing this to protect us... to keep us safe like Grandmother wanted.

The old man stared in disbelief, partly startled that the kid mentioned his wife for the 100th time even after telling him not to and partly because it sounded like the paranoid drivel she would say. With a determined look on his face his grandson signed: I know that you are not feeling well, well enough to do it on your own so I'll take that responsibility.

Silence.

The grandfather pointed to the wooden stand next to the bed. Next to a lit candle lay a black notebook. The boy reached over to hand it to his grandfather.

"I'll teach you how to make bread."

Smiling the boy leaned over to get a better look as the old man began to flip through the pages.