Robots

Robots living forever in anarchy. Is this what we’ve come to. I saw a screwdriver in the street yesterday. It was rusted through. Good for nothing at all, save to clutter the road and remind us of how things used to be. We meant something once. More than a crumbling tool sitting out in the rain until nobody even remembers what we’re here for anymore.

I picked up the screwdriver and threw into a nearby bin, as was my design. The bin would no doubt wander off and dump itself into a larger bin at some point. I had no part in that, though, nor would I ever. The rusted screwdriver, following its doomed path to the eventual landfill, would see more of the world than I ever had.

Perhaps that’s something to look forward to. One day, when the raw materials ran out and the repair systems failed, I would have the pleasure of taking a journey outside of the city for once. My rusted scrap of a body would be tossed into a bin and I’d be taken out into the country to burn out the last moments of my life in a landfill. At least it wouldn’t be here.

That’s assuming, of course, that the trash bins didn’t burn themselves out first.

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