Author: Eva Mackaday PM
A mysterious woman. A mysterious castle. A mysterious entity. Three supernatural machines. Is anything ever normal in Prowe?Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Words: 1,148 - Reviews: 1 - Favs: 1 - Follows: 1 - Published: 05-27-12 - Status: Complete - id: 3026309
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Friday 30th April, 2012 - Eva Mackaday
The Unknown Inventor
It was midnight in the unknown entity known as Prowe. Upon a hill, lay a historic castle, home to a great female inventor nobody knows or has seen, but feels their presence. No one is diurnal in this entity known as Prowe; they are all nocturnal, all due to a mysterious clanging noise at the dead of night that echoes through the lush, forest green fields that surrounds the entity known as Prowe. Everyone, every single living species capable of speech residing in the entity known as Prowe, knew the birthplace of the dull, heavy clanging sound, but were all too afraid to go to the birthplace, since everyone knows what happens at night in the entity known as Prowe, near the laying of the historic castle. Little, however, did they know that the lifeless clanging that travelled for miles forever was to create supernatural, something so incredible, single-handedly handcrafted items that were to change everything, for eternity in the history of the entity known as Prowe?
Down in the historic castle, underneath the mask of shiny polished floors and Baroque-style pianos and furniture, as well as the light, cheerful scent and mood of the castle, existed a room. A room that would be the scene of incredibility, happening. It was a room that represented beauty; that was not eye-catching in appearance, but enthralling in its individual tale that was etched into the walls. Whoever could possess such knowledge of such a tale? Of course, the unknown inventor could.
There she worked, a lady that was plain in appearance, and looked as though she had a comfortable life, but that was not true. She possessed such vast amounts of glittering gold and shimmering silver, that she could have anything she could ever wish for, but she never longed for that ticket of choice. She longed for such items that could bring, upon her face, a genuine smile and heartfelt, proper lashings of ecstatic waves.
But there was no time for thinking. She picked up blueprints that had complicated and complex prints that only an acknowledged Einstein could read. She whistled to herself, a tune that her mother wrote for her when she was young and defenceless, and a time where you never had to stand on your own two feet. Nevertheless, she had to learn that from an age too young, or she would've been knocked down like a bowling pin. What looked like scrap pieces of metal, cogs, screws, metal plates, anything, she picked up, and attached it around three burnt plastic frames that looked, to the average working human's eye, incredibly misshapen, as though it was intended to be like that.
Three elegant and carefully carved boxes with names, almost witch-like names, etched onto the top, caught the inventor's eye. She had been intending to give them to her finished three products that would, hopefully, receive her gratitude by making her smile. Within the boxes, lay three hand-bind booklets, containing detailed black and white ink drawings of their creation on the left sides of the double pages, and an explanation on their intention in the world and their ultimate mission in their lives in the right pages. She sighed with a sad, yet relieved look on her face, in the knowing of the day they are completed, she would have to let them go.
Night after night, using a high-tech supercomputer that she created from the parts of exiled robots, she built fictional memories, that would be loaded into microchips, that didn't make any sense with the situations the products were to be put into. One item had the memory that it was an artist, one of the top in art history, ranking along those such as Van Gogh, Vermeer and Rembrandt. Another had a memory where it was an air ace, but never had its talents recognised; they discriminated it as a robot. The final robot was certainly mysterious thought-wise. It was the unknown inventor's story, her past as a young girl, residing in the entity known as Prowe. It would never occur to her just how much impact, indirectly, it would have on the entity known as Prowe.
A smile crawled its way onto the inventors' face. Finally, she had succeeded her mission, a feeling she thought would never occur so suddenly, after many years of climbing the mountain of achievement, then being blown downwards by winds and boulders of obstacles.
The first item just blinked at her discretely, confused, trying to connect memories with its surroundings. It was beautiful, so beautiful. A moulded piece of metal, all welded together with no trace of weld marks, with painted patterns that, somehow, told their own story, a mask, unlike the memories and truth within. The second item closed its' eyes, and thought of the freedom given by not returning to its creators past, and opened them, erasing the trace of the memory. It laughed; looking like happiness on the outside, but was slowly anticipating a vicious plan to overthrow its master, since it thought that it had power over anything. The third was, yet again, mysterious. It resembled a little girl, with caramel brown hair tied into pigtails, and cute, blue eyes that were filled with passion, framed with fluttery eyelashes that would soften even the hardest of hearts. It wore a little dress that had buttons and a white linen collar. The dress had heart patterns on it, and it wore a pair of black Mary Jane shoes.
Tears seeped into the inventors' eyes. The third item brought back too many memories, painful memories, of her family. She furiously and determinedly snatched the tears away with her hand, where they lay in her palm, wobbling like crystal clear jelly. The past was over now, and the past needed to be forgotten, and the past was too painful to endure again. She needed to be strong.
One by one, she gave her successful items her boxes, each inscribed with their own name. On the inside of the lid, a little saying read:
Whatever you are, whatever life will throw,
I will watch over you, and bring you around.
Slowly and surely, walking into the soft blaze of the setting sun, the items headed towards the set of houses, where the residents were. The inventor may not have allowed herself to let go and show everyone her story, but the truth was best kept hidden. The company of the dull, lifeless clanging during the dead of night pleasured her.
As she watched her beloved products leave and fade into black smudges, she hoped, and for the best, that the items would change the history forever…little did she know that her life was about to become a long battle between respect and discrimination, though…