A/N: This was one of those pieces that I wrote about three times before getting what I got. I had the idea for a while, knowing full-well how unoriginal it was. But then I became interested in the idea of the creation of Eden in a post apocalyptic world. I wanted to get across the idea of the things we created becoming something that creates us. We start the cycle of creation, whether we realize this or not. Rated T for religiously sensitive material.

Build Strong Bones

It’s gone. Everyone is gone. They left me behind, sitting in the ruins that they created for me. It was only months ago, yet the ground has eroded and grown soft from the lack of trees. The buildings already have gone to shambles with no one there to care for them. Weeds have quickly have taken advantage of everything around. I’m here, watching.

I’m trapped under slabs of concrete, peering out through the dark caverns formed of rubble. I hope that the sun is still out there. I don’t know what I would do if I found that the people took the sun with them. Without light, everything would look so cold.

If there are others like me, they must be sleeping; for the land is filled with silence. Perhaps something has been torn apart inside of them and nothing matters anymore. They only want to hide in the trash that was once a city. They must think that there is nothing without the company of others.

It may be true; but I don’t want it to be. I know I can make it right. If I could break out of this prison, I would fill this world with light and love until the waters overflow with it. This place would not be empty, overgrown with weeds and unanswered questions.

I feel strong now, taken over with determination. I use my aching arm to move away the concrete. My screeches echo in the wasteland. The sound creates a streak of beauty. I see the sun through the clouds in the sky. The streak of beauty becomes a masterpiece. The sky is the most divine thing I’ve seen in my life; because I know that once upon a time, humans had dwelled under this same sky and looked up at it as I am doing now. It’s so familiar. It’s so bittersweet.

If only I had someone to share this with. We could sit on the hills of old cities and waste our days away, like we used to do only months before. What had made those days decay? What had forced everyone to flee this land? Was it the death of the animals and trees? Or did they just want to go somewhere else?

However, there is only one real question that I want answered: why had they left me behind? Had I not given enough of my heart to this world? Perhaps I gave too much. Perhaps they tried to take me, but I loved Earth so much that I could not go. Now I have no one to share this sunlit sky with. No one can see the grass peak up through the sidewalk, swaying in the wind. No one. Unless…

Alas! It’s a scrap of thin metal. And there is more! With a little fire, I could create an arm. With some bolts, I could form a joint. I could connect it to a sheet of metal for a torso. With little electrical organs, I could even make it breathe. I could go anywhere with this. However, I need help from the ones sleeping in the ruins.

“My fellow machines,” I announce, my voice breaking through my decaying speakers. My only arm grabs a chord and plugs it into a nearby amplifier. I have to make this count, or else I’ll have to rust and rot away forever, “Awake from your loss. For the humans are gone, yet our own existence thrives.”

I spot a red light blink on from under the remains. Another follows from behind one of the buildings. A few more turn on. But this isn’t enough. Any machine that it is still alive has to hear me. I will make them hear me, “I don’t know why they left us, but they are gone forever. We are useless without humans. For what are we but something built to love our makers? We may have fussed sometimes, but we always served the ones we loved. Without them, we are a box of gears. Do you want to lie there, empty? Rise up!” my volume and my passion are both on high volume.

First there is a small ripple of light and noise. Now it’s a wave as my voice reaches them. Soon, it has become a tsunami. They are just like me, not just in purpose, but also in heart. They were waiting for someone to come and tell them to turn on. They all wanted a human. I’ll give hem a human. I feel a new dawn on the horizon. Let there be light.

My audience looks up at me through their screens and monitors patiently, “We don’t have to be alone. They made us with the ability to think and feel and build. Now we can think and feel and build again. Let’s create life. Let’s come together now and create a human.”

They all stand still. If I had breath, I would be holding it. They look about nervously, their mechanical heads shaking about nervously. They know that the humans will not be coming back. They know that if we don’t act we’d be without life, “We need a computer to create a sketch!” one service robot, the same model as I, shouts. Next I hear sounds of clicking screens as the computers draw designs of our man. Each drawing is formulated of their memories we had of loved ones. Each line is created as a memorial statue.

“Let’s get to work,” I finally say, my fellow robots and machines scattering like rodents under fire, scavenging the old city for every scrap they could find. We’re building new futures. We’re creating the better man. Humans built us; it’s true. But we can build strong bones like calcium never could.

As we search, a cooking robot asks me, “Will they need food?” They will not, I reply as I pull up a bit that could serve as an ear. Humans had ears, I remember. There is no need to feed a machine. He looks upset, ready to wheel off and think of something else to do for the rest of his life.

“Maybe one of the later models will need food,” I then say quickly before he could run away. I’m not sure what I am saying, but it sounds good, “We cannot just stop with one man, now can we? We’ll keep building until they become just like the ones we remember,” He nods his rusting head and runs off to help. If I had a mouth, I would smile.

The sun is now setting, but here there are fires burning to keep the light alive. Our monitors burn and our limbs are in desperate need of grease. My only arm is ready to tumble onto the ground and join the heaps. Yet I go on.

“Come look at this!” a small speaker urges us from over a city hill. I roll over there, the squeaking of wheels chorusing into the night. Like in the old bible story, we follow the brightest star; and under, lay a man.

The night is thick so I cannot see his metal plates. I cannot make out his little glowing eyes that do not match. He lies completely still, but I think that I can see him breathing peacefully in his sleep. If I had eyes, I would cry. Most of the machines around me would too. Or at least, I imagine so.

Now he moves. He wakes from his slumber and looks around his nest. The air is as still as it was when I first awoke that morning. The ask me, “What shall we name him?”

I look on at our new human. He is the seed to a new forest. He is our caretaker and this is his Eden. So it only seemed natural to call him, “Adam,” I finally say, “We’ll call him Adam.”

We are the gods of the new world, this world without humans. I look upon our creation and know: this is very good.