1
The clouds were gathering angrily in the distance. The icy feel of the wind on her face heralded the fast-approaching storm. She moved towards her brother, who was tinkering with his old toys. He was still only four years old, but he already showed their late father’s fascination with breaking things down into tiny pieces and making each piece a standalone, usable object. As expected, she found him with that old, worn-down robot again. He had disassembled its parts — the head, hands, and legs were separated from the mainframe of its body.
She and her brother resembled the toy. She looked at the metal joints of her fingers; rust had already crept up, even towards her neck. Her brother was no better. His metal frame was as frail as the robot’s. She had put some metal wraps around his knees and elbows where he was most vulnerable, which helped ease his walking, but still, he needed repair soon.
“Shiro, let’s go inside before the rain pours down,” she called out to him.
Shiro looked at her, his eyes flickering with blue light, silently begging for more time outside. But she couldn’t grant his wish.
“You can bring your toys inside. The storm’s coming, and you know what that means — water is bad for our wires.” She spoke as gently as she could.
The boy silently gathered his things into a sack as she watched him with a heavy heart. Since the death of their parents, he had refused to speak. Silence had become his refuge. She watched his wobbly steps, the sound of rickety metal following him as he slung the sack behind his back.
