I had a lot of fun with the last Power Up Prompt, so, here we go again. Thanks Bradley Ramsey!
A breeze blew in through the open windows of the Atelier, tugging at the half-forgotten windchimes in the corner of the workshop. The soft, peaceful sound was all it took to wake Mortimer. He woke with a jolt, realizing he had fallen asleep at his bench once again. A puddle of drool was already seeping into the woodgrain, and his back ached from the awkward position.
He groaned to himself as he stood up and made his way slowly across the shop. Piles of half-finished projects were spread across the floor of the Atelier. Even more machines, clocks, and gadgets sat, collecting dust on the shelves.
If he ever decided to open his doors once more, maybe he could sell one or two. People always needed things–or wanted things. Compasses, solar goggles, and even a spare ray-gun would sell easily. However, it was clocks that Mortimer had become famous for. Once, long ago, he had been the most prolific clockmaker in all of Dina Fel. Now, he was something of an artifact–forgotten under a pile of dust.
Instead of flipping the sign in his window to ‘open’ and greeting the public as any other shopkeeper would do, Mortimer marched to the stove at the far end of the room and put a percolator on the heat. The coffee was days old, but to him, it hardly mattered. He didn’t drink the rancid tar for taste; he drank it in the same way an engine drank gasoline.
After making a cup of coffee so dark and thick that a spoon could stand upright in it, Mortimer shuffled his way into the basement.
The basement was cold and damp. Along with a collection of well-fed rats and corner-dwelling spiders, there was a machine that resided there. If Mortimer were honest with himself, he didn’t truly know what The Machine was capable of. He had built it from the blueprints Penny had left behind.
The blueprints were complicated–the machine was not easy to construct. Then again, Penny hadn’t been the kind of woman to make things easy. She believed that perfection, skill, and dedication were what made an inventor worth their skin. It reflected in her work.
While Penny hadn’t lived long enough to build The Machine herself. However, as Mortimer flicked on the lights and gazed at the massive contraption made of copper and gears, he saw his wife in the reflection. In many ways, she had created this. It was her design, after all.
And a strange design it was. Being an inventor himself, Mortimer wasn’t against a bit of experimental work. However, Penny took the idea of experimentalism to a new level. The Machine wasn’t just copper, chrome, and gears. It wasn’t just well-timed mechanics, ball joints, and electrical current. No, beneath its shiny surface was all that remained of his wife.
Penny’s body laid at the heart of The Machine, curled up like a caterpillar in its chrysalis. It had been her design–her intention to have her body laid to rest in the bowls of a cubic machine. When he had first started on the project Mortimer had found it all dark and a bit disgusting. He thought she ought to be buried alongside her family in the plot near the church. Instead, she wasn’t buried but preserved like a three-headed cat in formaldehyde.
“You know,” Mortimer pulled up a seat and sat down beside The Machine. “I dreamt about her again.”
The Machine didn’t respond. Cold metal had a way of rarely replying when spoken to.
“In the dream we were on a beach somewhere, and she was happy.” He couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It had been so long since he had last seen Penny smile.
Once again, The Machine didn’t respond.
Mortimer frowned as he reached into his shirt and pulled out Penny’s locket. He opened it to reveal a little picture of the two of them. They were young and happy. Penny was so alive back then. Her hair hadn’t yet faded; her eyes still held a glow. Mortimer rarely looked at the image of himself, but he supposed, back then, he was handsome–in a bookish kind of way. It was a realization he had only later in life.
“She told me something,” he whispered to The Machine.
Upstairs, a gust of wind blew through the workshop, ringing the chimes. The Machine still did not speak.
“She told me what you are.”
The words echoed around the dark, damp basement.
“And how to use you.” He held the locket tight in his palm. It was the last piece he had of Penny–other than The Machine.
The Machine sat silently, a cube of unrealized potential. Mortimer looked up, seeing his own reflection in a piece of copper that had yet to oxidize. He had gotten old. His hair was wilder than ever, gray and curly. His beard was unkempt, and his eyes were… sad. He was nothing more than a sad old man. The realization should have made him feel something, yet all he could think about was Penny.
“If I do this,” he began. “Will you really be able to do it? Will you become her?”
The Machine still didn’t answer. Mortimer looked down at the locket in his hand once more. It was the last picture he had of her. Since her death, he hadn’t been anywhere without the locket.
“I can’t keep living like this,” he said to himself. Slowly, Mortimer stood up. He stepped closer to The Machine, running his hand along its smooth surface.
At the center of The Machine’s front panel was a small heart-shaped opening. For months, Mortimer struggled to understand what it was for. Clearly, it was somehow linked to The Machine’s power, but he didn’t understand what it was. Now, after his vivid dream of Penny, he knew exactly what the opening was for.
“It’ll destroy the locket,” Dream-Penny had told him. “But it will clear a path through the Ether so my soul can return.”
“Souls don’t return…you’re…gone.”
“You know so many things, Morti.” She smiled in a mischievous kind of way. It wrinkled her nose and made her eyes dance. “But you don’t know everything.”
“I don’t want to destroy the locket. That’s all I have left of you.”
She gave him a sad expression. “I understand. But if you want to see me again, you’ll do it.”
Mortimer was afraid to do it. What if it didn’t work? What if he destroyed the locket for nothing? Souls couldn’t truly return, could they?
Taking a deep breath, he took the locket and placed it carefully into the opening of The Machine. It fit perfectly, like a key sliding into its hole. There was an ever-so-slight ‘click’ and suddenly The Machine began to whirl. Gears turned, and for the first time since it was built, The Machine came to life.
Mortimer watched in awe and horror as the locket burned bright, melting into a vivid shade of orange. The molten liquid was sucked back into The Machine, and the gears began to work even faster. Slowly and then all at once, The Machine transformed. Parts clicked into place, and it unfolded itself from the shape of a cube into the shape of a woman.
Only minutes after placing the locket into The Machine, Mortimer found himself gazing at an entirely different machine. The cube was now a woman with copper skin and chrome eyes. Her elbows were made from ball joints, and her veins were wires–sending electrical currents through her body.
“Penny?” Mortimer’s voice was shaky as he spoke.
This time, The Machine answered him. “Morti?”
For a moment, he was frozen in his own shock. It worked. Penny had designed her own way out of death, and he had built it for her. Somehow, the locket was the last key. Now, standing before him was his beloved wife.
“Morti,” she said again. Her voice was hollow–the sound of metal scraping against itself.
“Penny, I…I’ve missed you so much.” Hot tears slipped from his eyes, falling into his beard and clinging to his chin. “You left and…I closed the shop. I couldn’t…things haven’t…”
“It’s alright,” she replied calmly. Carefully, like a foal still learning to stand, she stepped forward. “It’s alright; I’m back.”
An overwhelming sensation of relief crossed through Mortimer. Penny was back. He rushed forward and pulled her into an awkward embrace. In his arms, she was rigid, cold, and made of metal–but she was his once more.
“Thank you,” he sobbed.
“I told you I’d find a way back,” she said.
At her words, Mortimer’s relief staggered in his chest. Slowly, he pulled away from her. He held her shoulders and gazed into her chrome eyes, searching for the woman he had lost.
“Penny,” he said softly. “Do you remember the day we met?”
“Of course I do. It was the best day of my life.”
His heart began to race in his chest. Suddenly, he felt less like a lovesick man and more like an animal of prey. “Yeah…it was the best day of my life, too.” He paused, thinking quickly. “Do you remember walking to the park, and I got you that ice cream cone?”
She laughed; it was a dry, echoed sound. “I do. We had so much fun, didn’t we?”
“We did.” Mortimer forced himself to smile. As he stood, facing what used to be The Machine, he knew only two truths: he had never taken Penny to get ice cream, and whatever The Machine had become was only pretending to be his dead wife.
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“We did.” Mortimer forced himself to smile. As he stood, facing what used to be The Machine, he knew only two truths: he had never taken Penny to get ice cream, and whatever The Machine had become was only pretending to be his dead wife. Oh my. That is uncannily spooky. Shades of "Invasions of the Body Snatchers" but with a much more poetic style. Nicely done. Shivers. Frisson.
Oh, this is great! Lovely delicate and romantic details creating the perfect smoke screen for where you finally go with it.