The Ending Machine- A Short Story

The Ending Machine 

by Sarah Witham

October 19, 2018

I live in a world of robots. They're called Companions. And I suppose that's fitting enough as a name. They're helpful, mostly. Efficient. Capable. They do keep decent company most of the time, and I am usually in the mood for good company. 
     But sometimes I like to make my own toast, you know. Sometimes I like to accidentally burn the edge, or smear on too much jam, or perhaps too little. 
     Another dreary day on the train. I glance at my Companion, reading the paper. He looks up as soon as I do. 
     "Do you need anything, Mitch?" 
     "No, no, I'm quite well, thanks."
     I lean my head against the glass and watch the drizzle. My breath fogs up the scene. The stretch of track leading into the city from the suburbs mostly travels through housing complexes and then one long daunting stretch of charmless highway before the high-rises creep into view and then tower over us. But for a few minutes each trip, there's a sharp curve in the tracks, and we race through thick trees and then burst out of them, peeking a glance of the hillside to the west, and the breathtaking view of the bay below. Twenty nine seconds exactly of gorgeous views, and then back through thick trees and then the flat nothingness leading to the city. 
     The train car goes dark as we enter the short forest. 
     "Do you think you could manage a little jaunt by the hillside, maybe just for a moment? It's only a drizzle." 
     My Companion looks up from the paper to peer outside. 
     "I know you're getting stuffy. Too much time indoors," he says. 
     "Do you mind the damp?"
     "No, it's just a drizzle. Last time was a downer. That one really caused a mess with the circuitry." 
     He gestures to the pull bar. I smile and give it a tug. The train slows and my Companion packs up his things. He opens an umbrella when we disembark and he holds it over me. The train leaves, and we walk towards the hillside. Another will come by in ten minutes, and we'll catch that one to head to the city. 
     Until then, it's ten minutes away from the electric hum. Ten minutes of alone. Ten minutes to bask in the open glory of nature's hillside, to hear the sound of water rippling against the rocks below, to feel the wind and experience the open air. Ten minutes to be alive. 
     "Do you mind if I have a little alone time?"
     My Companion's face falls and he nods. He hands me the umbrella and I watch as he saunters off around the bend. He falters for a moment, looking around at the expanse of beauty. He glances back at me and ducks around the trees in chagrin. 
     How alive he seems. Does he even know he's a robot? Does he know there's no blood beneath that skin?
     I turn and bask in the beauty of my surroundings. There's something so magnificent about the view. The train tracks behind me, the forest on either side, and stretched out before me, the wide expanse of the gentle rocky slope heading down to the bay. 
     I breathe in the heavy air. It's always felt so good to get away from the city, away from the metal, away from the electric. And just breathe. 
     We continue returning to this spot, taking ten minutes every once in a while, to watch the seasons change, to breathe in fresh air. It's getting harder and harder to squeeze in the time for the stops, but occasionally we do. 
     This time I invite my Companion to sit with me on the rocky edge. It's windy today. It blows through our hair, whips at our jackets. My Companion smiles. 
      "I can see why you like it out here. It's really lovely."
      "You don't mind the wind?"
     "No, do you?" 
     "No, I like it."
      My Companion stretches out his arms and yawns and looks at his watch. He's always aware of the time. 
     Every time I'm out here, breathing in the air, sun scalding my skin, wind whispering across my cheeks, I remember I'm alive. But the humdrum of life, the scarcity of moments like this, make it harder to remember. 
     I look at my Companion. He looks just like me. Identical. We'd look like twins if you didn't know any better. They've gotten so good at making them now. That's why they instituted the 100 foot rule- no working Companions can be farther than that from their person. 
      Does he know he's not alive? Does he know there's no blood under that skin? 
     "Can you give me a minute alone?"
     My Companion obliges. 
     Do I know I'm alive? Do I know there's blood under my skin?
     I pull out a pocket knife. I draw the blade against my skin and push. I watch as the skin draws taut, turning whiter against the steel. 
     "The train!" 
     Nothing. It was nothing. I pocket the steel and return to the humdrum. 
     Time passes, seasons change again. It gets harder and harder to find the time to get to the shore. We chug along the train tracks, chug in and out of the forest, a hundred times, a thousand times. I lose track of when the last time was that I stood on the rocky shore and basked in the quiet call of life away from electric. 
     It's raining hard today. But the shore calls to me. I've got to get back there. If only just to stand in the rain and feel it roll down my face, and chill my skin. I need to know I'm alive. 
     "Do you think you could manage in this much rain?"
     "It's really raining hard. Are you sure you want to visit the shore today? Friday looks sunnier."
     "I just need to get out for a little bit."
     The train stops and we disembark. My Companion offers me the umbrella, but I decline. He looks at me sternly. 
     "I'll be fine. You need it more than I do. You know how the water affects you."
     He opens the umbrella and huddles under it. The rain picks up. I ask for alone time. I stand in the rain and throw my head back to let it pelt at my face, trickle down my lips, fall into my hair. 
     But it's not enough. I need to know I'm alive. 
     I get back out the pocket knife and open it's blade. I rest it against skin and in a rush I push and there it is, the sweet, dark red blood, dripping blood, blood that screams I'm alive. See, I am alive. 
     But it wasn't my skin. It wasn't my skin that fell red blood drops to the ground. 
     "Hadn't I been a good Companion? Hadn't I been there all this time, within 100 feet, always there, even when this place called to me?"
     I'd only needed blood as proof. And here at the end, my Companion pulling out the button that will end me, wasn't it worth it to see the blood. To know in the end. That the hollow feeling inside me wasn't lying in the humdrum. I wasn't really alive. But I sought it out, found what made me feel it. 
     And here, in the only place that ever made me feel alive, my Companion wraps his hand around his bleeding wrist, and with a bloodied hand he presses his thumb into the ending machine.