I double-checked again, wiggling my fingers, opening and closing my hand, extending my fingers as far as they would go. The circuits were intact, the wires were clean, the joints squeaked and did as they were told. My fingers weren't broken; my hands work just fine.
Maybe my programming is a bit out of whack. Maybe a good restart and reboot will put me back on track. Maybe I simply missed a switch or there was a button I forgot to press.
My mind beeps and boops but nothing comes out, only incoherent garbling and nonsense. The wheels in my head continue to turn, whirring in their little circles, the motor hums like it always does, and the little lights still flash rhythmically. Information continues to stream in but nothing comes out. My hard drive is slowing, crashing, backlogged. I'm behind schedule. I'm off beat. I'm out of place.
I was useless if I couldn't do my job. I was useless if I couldn't do the very task I was built to do. What would they say about the one who forgot how to write in a day? A malfunction? An anomaly in the batch? A defect destined for the trash?
I stare at the page. No words appear. No ideas, no creativity; nothing is clear. Maybe I'm just in a trance; maybe my fingers momentarily forgot how to dance.
But my mind is fine, my fingers are okay. The page is blank because I don't know what to say.
The tears began to roll down my metal frame but I didn't stop them this time. The rust will settle on my skin soon enough. I'll soon be a heap of scrapmetal in a landfill or a dump.
I went home broken because I knew I was broken.
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