Creative Collisions

The Class of Einen Monks, especially trained individuals for combat to protect their fragile Gods, stand at the ready in your mind.

You may never know the truth behind your life. Fight! Fight! Gotta remember the end. Burial relief. Let the man find you. Come back fighting. Start with the beginning.

I don’t want to indulge myself. For my listening pleasure. Reaching up from the depths. Cold, dripping ice falls from my skin, I’m needing warmth, before my flesh is scorched.

Touch my listening pleasure points, crank up that rhythm. I hear your pain. I can feel it.  But, you hold back, like you’re strapped to my electric chair.

There are only a few ways to get through Tragedy. You just have to know how to squeeze out of tight spaces.

I don’t allow myself to be creative much. I wonder why that it is. Am I afraid of failure or success?

… Ribbits was determined to complete his inspection of the first floor of the Samson Building in downtown New Chicago before the night was over. He had begun the after-hours cleaning of the 15 floor glass building that illuminated the night sky, as soon as the humans had vacated it. He was almost finished when his internal alarm blared, signifying his day was over.  It was sharp to his mechanical ears, reminding him to return home to his owner, R. Foust Cleaners. His maker, Evan T. Inc., had outfitted all of the Domestic line with special detection systems in cases of fire, burglaries and even when it was time to vacate a job site.

Ribbits was very good at his job, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be in a different type of work. Once back at his owners, stepped into the small utility room that his wife called home, plugged himself into the electrical socket by his wife, and tapped the button at the middle of his chest console that read Charge. Tomorrow was his purchaseday, and he tried to imagine what his wife would get him. He was excited. He would be 5 years post-Production. It seemed like yesterday he had come off of the production line and had been Purchased by R. Foust Cleaners.

Reaching over to his sleeping wife, who was 2 years his senior, he smiled and held her robotic arm. The soothing music that flowed from her communications speaker made their fine storage room cozy. Closing down his central calculations center, or his CCC, he felt his body start to hum, as he began to charge for the night.


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