The Metal Man

At the midnight hour, in a home no bigger than a shoebox, there lived a small metal man.

He tick tick ticked away as he diligently worked. He was fashioning new pieces for himself, as he was always breaking.

He was fixing the joints of his legs. He clicked one out of its socket and placed it on his workspace.

More rust than he would have liked had started to build up, so he cleaned that.

Then he noticed a few screws had stripped, so he placed in some new ones.

He was growing weary at the rate he had to fix himself.

Last week he coughed up a cloud of smog so vile he shuddered at the memory.

The week before, his memory had skipped altogether. He shuddered at the place the memory was supposed to be.

He stretched his limbs and made a mental checklist of all the things that felt off.

The joints creaked a bit too much. His fingers don’t articulate as they used to.

By tomorrow this will strip, by next week this will rust. By next month this will be broken altogether.

Every night he fixes what has broken, and every day he forages for new pieces, often breaking more.

Clumsy in his life, meticulous in his care.

On and on.

The little metal man in the little metal box falls apart and picks up the pieces at the same time.

Every day he worried. Would he make it out of his box? What if he did not have the right piece to fix any problem that arose?

He was always concerned that the rust might build and his joints wouldn’t move. That the metal cogs in his casing would one day grind to a halt.

Every day he worked to solve problems he foresaw, but never arose.

One day, while scavenging for parts, he came across a music box, and on that box was a porcelain woman.

The box twinkled with the most beautiful sound the metal man had ever heard. The woman danced and twirled with a sense of freedom that felt alien to the metal man.

At close inspection, the man could see the box was terribly worn and the porcelain was cracked and the color faded.

“Excuse me miss,” the metal man started.

“Are you sure it’s safe for you to be up there? It looks terribly dangerous and if you were to fall, you may shatter.”

The woman smiled down at him, not bothering to stop her dance.

“I may.” She said, short and simply with a trace of amusement. As if this were completely obvious yet of no concern.

She twirled and dipped her head back, teetering perilously over the edge of her box. Her arms spread wide towards the man.

“I may fall and I may shatter, but at least I lived, and I danced.”

The metal man stared, mouth agape. A sudden rush of anxiety filled his thoughts.

“But if you were to fall, then you couldn’t dance again!”

She paused, considering. “So if I am to think every time I dance, that I should not so that I may one day dance again… when will I ever dance?”

The metal man thought about this, clearly seeing the dilemma but seeing no other solution. “I supposed you shouldn’t dance then, for your own safety that is.”

“Well then I’d rather shatter.” She said pointedly.

She continued her dance, and the metal man had to admit to himself, she was an excellent dancer.

The metal man walked on. Days passed and he continued to be careful, but the porcelain woman’s words continued to rattle in his mind.

Why would someone risk so much just to dance?

He considered this deeply as the days passed.

As the metal man foraged for scrap, he often noticed rodents scurrying quickly this way and that. Never one of the same.

He was confused as to how he could never travel far but there were always new creatures turning up near his home. His curiosity got the better of him and one day he stopped a rodent scurrying by and said, “hello new neighbor! Where do you come from in such a hurry? And please tell me where you are going?”

The mouse stopped, scrunching its nose and twitching its whiskers in agitation, clearly not expecting to have stopped his travels.

“Well, I’m leaving where I was, and I supposed I’m going where I haven’t yet been.” The mouse said quickly, before starting off again.

“Wait!” The metal man trundled after.

“I don’t have time to wait!,” the mouse called back, “I have to get where I’m going!”

“B-but whee is that exactly?” The metal man stuttered, out of breath.

“It’s not where I’ve been.”

“Well obviously!” The metal man said, exasperated. “But if you don’t know exactly where you’re going, why are you heading there in such a hurry?”

The mouse snorted, as if it were obvious.

“It isn’t safe to always be where I’ve been, it’s too dangerous for a little mouse like me. If I were to stay too long where I’ve been, surely I’ll be eaten!” The mouse spoke, not with fear for his troubles, but a determination to overcome them.

“So you see, I have to go where I haven’t, staying put is no good for anyone, let alone little guys like us!” And without another word, he scurried away. Leaving the metal man where he had been in search of all the places he would never go.

The metal man no longer knew what to make of things.

A porcelain woman more willing to live dancing than fear her demise.

A small rodent perfectly content to always be moving forward, because his demise lay behind him.

Who was the metal man if not a being in complete stasis.

One day as he pondered these creatures so different from him, he came across a plump green caterpillar.

“Ah now this is a creature like me, fragile and slow, perfectly content to never stray far from home!”

“But one day I will,” the caterpillar responded.

The metal man was shocked at this response and frustrated that the caterpillar was not as he originally seemed.

“I am small and slow now but soon I will build my cocoon. I will stay in place for a bit but I will change because of it. I will become something new and beautiful. And then I will fly away.”

The metal man was crushed that even this small formless creature dreamed of changing, of living differently.

“But how? How can you change like that?” The metal man asked.

“It is in my nature to change, and I welcome it,” the caterpillar started. “It will be different and the change seems frightening, but I will be better for it in the end.” The caterpillar raised its body, looking to the sky.

“I will form a body that will break free from the creature I was yesterday, so I can fly towards the one I will be tomorrow.”

The caterpillar then busied itself to eating, leaving the metal man to his thoughts.

At this point he was thinking so much, he was forgetting to forage for parts.

The porcelain figure was unafraid to crack, more willing to live happily than in fear.

The rodent moved, always forward, never back.

The caterpillar who was building a new body to live in the world it wished to live in. Willing to overcome fear to get there.

And so, he walked. He left his small home, no bigger than a shoebox, behind. He adopted the world around him as a new home. He realized it was far more beautiful than he first thought.

As time moved on, and so did he, he began to rust. Sometimes pieces broke, and were left behind. But the metal man no longer feared shattering, for he was living for the first time.

He realized he could fix problems in time, but oftentimes he now left them unattended.

He walked and watched the world pass. Quickly at first as he ran with the rodents, and then slowly. Months turned to years and the rust accumulated. His joints weathered and eventually broke.

He moved when he could until eventually he could not at all.

He laid, scattered and rusting, until moss formed and insects inhabited his hollow shell.

He laid in pieces and was quite happy. For he found that while eventually he did shatter, he undoubtedly had lived.