G. Wright - Broken Things

The first one was full of the usual adult medications. He recognized them from his parents’ medicine cabinet. They had to take pills for their weight, to be able to digest wheat and dairy, antidepressants (his mother took five different kinds), anti-anxiety, antipsychotics, and the optional one-a-day multivitamin. As long as they took those every day, people stayed young and healthy.

The others were filled with papers, but the one in the middle had pencils, paperclips and such, and most importantly, keys. There were dozens of them, some loose, some on key rings. He stuffed his pockets with every one he could find and rushed back.

“I’ve got keys,” he said intently, “I’ll get you out.”

“Just hurry!”

He tried them one by one, dropping them when they failed. About twenty keys later, he found success. “Got it!” he cried a bit too loudly. He dumped the rest of the keys from his pocket and threw open the door to come face to face with another boy, much like himself.

“Thanks,” The other kid said, “Let’s get out of here!” He had a ragged head of dark hair, and looked like he hadn’t had a haircut for some time. He stood about the same height, and he guessed that they must’ve been about the same age.

“Which way?” he asked.

“Look for exit signs!”

Josh followed the new kid down the hallway. Though the other kid ran, he tried to follow him more slowly. He couldn’t risk blacking out. If that happened now, it would be over.

The other kid turned around as he reached a door with a large red exit sign. “You coming?”

“Yes, wait for me.”

“Hurry up!”

He reached the door, but when he went to push it open, the kid stopped him. “When we push on the handle,” he warned, “An alarm is going to sound. You’re going to have to run.”

“I can’t,” Josh said, “I’ll shut down.”

The other kid raised an eyebrow. “You broke or something?”

“No, I’m just not working right.”

“You’ve got blood on your cheek. Are you hurt?”

Josh reached up and touched his face. He stared at the red smudge on his fingertips. He shuddered. “It was in my room!”

“What was?”

“The monster.”

“Monster? What are you talking about?”

Josh showed him the blood on his fingers. “The monster! Didn’t you see the blood back there? They brought it back from the mountains. It’s after me. It must’ve touched me.”

“Dude, you’re freaking me out! Something is seriously wrong with you. We’ve got to reach the alley across the street. If someone comes after us, I’m running. Try and keep up. Once we get a block or two away we should be safe.”

“All right.”

“Wait. What’s that?” The kid looked over Josh’s shoulder. “Do you hear it? Someone’s coming. Get ready to run!”

Josh looked back to see what appeared to be a security guard round the corner. He didn’t walk quite right, as if his legs weren’t cooperating. He didn’t need a closer look, though he couldn’t see the face he knew what it was. “That’s not a guard!”

“Of course it is, run!” The kid threw open the door, and a piercing alarm broke the silence. With all worries of blacking out forgotten, he ran right on the other kid’s heels.

When they reached the other side of the street, the other boy grabbed his arm and pulled him into the shadows. “Wait!” he whispered, “Security!”

“I told you that’s not security,” Josh said. “That’s the monster.”

“Why’s it dressed like security? You think they’re giving monsters jobs?”

“I don’t know. I think it still see us.”

“No way, we’re hidden. Come on.” They snuck down the alley, moving more cautiously. Soon they reached a residential neighborhood and slipped into a backyard to wait for morning. They sat in silence, listening to the sound of sirens and the sound of distant traffic.

“Thanks again,” said the kid, “For saving me. I thought I was a goner!”

“Me too,” Josh replied, “And you’re welcome. Are you defective too?”

“Me? No way! I’m state of the art.”

“Then why were you there?”

“Not every kid that ends up at Kidsmith is defective. They also bring in runaways. That’s what I am. I’m not licensed to any adult. They can’t have homeless kids roaming the street, so they bring them in for reclamation. They do a memory wipe, do some touch-ups, and sell us again.”

“You’re homeless?” he asked, “How’d you lose your parents?”

“My owners used to knock me around. I decided to leave while I could still walk. I eventually learned ways to fix myself. I’m a ‘ mod’ .”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means I got rid of the crap parts Kidsmith put in me and replaced it with good stuff. Kids going defective are nothing new. I however, will last forever.”

“I want to be a ‘ mod’ ,” Josh said, “How do you do it?”

“I can’t do it, it takes someone that knows children.”

“But it would fix me, wouldn’t it?”

“Maybe,” the kid replied with a shrug, “Maybe not. It depends what’s all wrong with you. What is wrong with you, anyway? Your head whistles. Does that make you see monsters?”

“I was in an accident. I’ve got damaged parts.”

“Maybe you just need a parts replacement.”

“So can you help me?” Josh asked, “Can you show me where you got modded?”

“I guess so. But there’s a cost, and it’s not always money.”

The sun rose over the horizon turning the houses from dark silhouettes into distinct buildings. Somewhere nearby a dog started barking and wouldn’t quit. Traffic began to increase as adults began to filter their way to their jobs.

“We should get going,” the kid said, “There are better places to be than here. Someone’s gonna catch us if we stick around. My name’s Neil. What’s yours?”

“Josh,” he said, “So if you don’t have parents, how do you survive?”

“I have help,” he said, “It’s about who you know. If you know the right people you don’t need anyone. You need to quit thinking of them as parents. They’re owners. They don’t see you as a real kid, no matter how much they pretend.”

“I miss mine.”

“You won’t. Eventually. Owners lie. They treat you like their own, but all they really want is a pet. Then once you aren’t new anymore, when you start to slow down, they get rid of you and get a new one.”

“I think they just lost me. They’ll be happy to see me again.”

“Nobody loses kids. Once they realize what they’re in for, all of the responsibility, they start looking for a way out. They start with thinking everything will be perfect, that they need someone underfoot, but we’re programmed to be just like real human beings, but ones that never age, like them. They get a kid that pouts, sulks, throws temper tantrums, demands toys, makes a mess of their room, you name it, and two days later it gets old.

“Then they start asking themselves if they really want a kid. They get disappointed because their kid isn’t as smart as their friend’s kid, or isn’t as cute. So you trade that kid in for a newer model, and you tell Kidsmith what you want different, and then there you go, a brand new happy family. Maybe this time however, you’ve been replaced with a girl or someone older, or younger and cuter.”

“But if that’s the case,” Josh said, “Shouldn’t there be a world full of discarded children?”

“Of course there is,” Neil answered, “There’s tons of throwaways. There’s a room back at Kidsmith full of them, all broken and used for parts. But sooner or later, they all end up in the pit.”

“What’s the pit?”