Grey Sky Short Stories

Title Here

Written in November of 2015

The wind whispers through the soft green leaves of the tall oak trees. It ruffles last year's brown leaf mold, commanding them to dance. As they reveal old seeds, an amber furred squirrel scurries across to retrieve them, tail flicking. A distant bird screeches, piercing through the tranquility like a knife.

A gasp follows the sound, and the squirrel freezes, focusing on a small gently sloped valley. There lay a mess of white and silver metal, mixed with shattered glass and a name: JetSuite. A shaking hand grasps the edge of a large sheet of metal, pulling itself up. A brown haired girl stares out from the top of it with eyes as green as the leaves, silent panic screaming out from their depths. She straightens her arms, throwing a leg over the top. With a muffled thump, she jumps down onto the ground. Her jeans are ripped open in some places, revealing shallow bleeding cuts. Her black band t-shirt is unaltered, although it is ruffled slightly.

The squirrel squeaks, scurrying into the woods. The girl hugs her arms, biting her lip nervously. She blinks rapidly, attempting to recollect her thoughts. "...Mom?" the girl whispers, confusion misting over her eyes. "Dad?" Silence greets her words and she turns on her heels to face the mess of metal. A cracked oval of glass reveals a scarlet mess on a leather seat, several patches of make-up powdered skin peeking out from the disaster. "Mom!" she screams and presses her hand and face against the glass. Tears smear her vision, but there is an identical crimson lump on the opposite side along with the remnants of a champagne glass.

"Pardon pfft, miss Ivy." an automated male voice makes her leap away from the wreckage, white noise interrupting his sentence. Two bright white lights glare out from under a long thick sheet of metal. They are embedded into a silver rectangular box, three minute holes drilled into the head; one in between the lights and one in the center of each side. His robot body looks almost like a cartoonish worm balancing on a black treaded wheel. Two arms are connected to the body, resembling penguin wings. "Your private aircraft has crashed, and pfft my sole function to search and pfft survivors." A panel in the center of his body slides away to reveal a screen, a long crack originating from the bottom left corner.

Ivy gulps nervously, eyeing the robot warily. How did I even survive the crash? she thinks, glancing at their family jet. She takes a deep breath, stepping towards the short robot. "Is anyone else alive?"

The machine's lights flicker off and back on, reminding Ivy of blinking eyes. It wheels out from the metal sheet, swerving through the wreckage towards her. "Unfortunately, no miss pfft." Ivy almost feels pity for it, as it clearly is damaged. "First, we must pfft firewood. Pfft over there." His right fin gestures to where the squirrel was foraging. Despite her name, Ivy cringes at the thought of gathering wood. It is so old fashioned. Not to mention dirty.

Still, Ivy moves away the shrubs to collect spare twigs not affected by the rainstorm that came hours earlier. The same words run through her mind over and over again; how did I even survive the crash? The robot stays at the wreckage, still talking to her with a mix of words and hissing.

When she gets back, he has moved the emergency exit door aside and beckoned her in with his wing-like arms. "Set your firepfft in here." he says, moving in front of the bar. It is a horseshoe shaped bunch of metal and glass, nearly all of the glasses that used to hang from the ceiling lying smashed on the floor along with different colored bottle spilling their fizzing contents. Ivy lays the wood where the bartender would normally stand, and tries not to wonder where he went. The robot moves into the ring, the tip of his arm flicking open to reveal a black tube. He waves it, something clicking in the mechanism to ignite a small flame on the end of the tube. The robot brushes the tinder with the fire, and Ivy hurriedly holds out her hands to feel the warmth. "Rest, miss pfft." he says monotonically. "You will pfft your strength out here."

Ivy reluctantly curls up in the opening of the bar horseshoe, trying not to remind herself that her parents were in this very jet, and now they are a bleeding pulp. Then she remembers her father's drunken laugh, and her mother's that followed. Then burying her head in her immaculate white pillows to attempt to drown them out. Darkness had covered her vision and a terrible screeching and ripping of metal to accompany it.

~

When Ivy awakes, the fire is cold and the robot wheels around into the entrance of the bar. His cracked screen flickers to life, a blank white page. "Good pfft, miss pfft." Ivy frowns, sitting up against the bar wall. It is evident that the robot had been outside, as dirt and leaves coats his singular wheel. Two words in black text appear on his screen, and his lights blink rapidly.

Title Here, it reads. The robot wheels closer, and Ivy reaches out towards him. She swipes up from the bottom of the screen, nothing happening. She tries again, her forehead wrinkling in confusion. "Why won't you work?" she growls, tapping on random points on his screen. The two words glint coldly at her, and she screams in frustration.

Bolting to her feet, Ivy storms outside of the jet and into the light drizzle. She faintly hears the robot speaking in jumbled words interrupted by the white noise, but ignores it. She tips her head up into the rain, opening her mouth to let out a hoarse scream. One of pain, one of remorse, one of terror all in the same cry. Water drips into her eyes, masking the salty tears that slid down her cheeks. Her mother and father are gone, and Ivy is stranded in a forest heaven knows where with a damaged robot.

She collapses down into the mud, which seeps into her jeans and through her fingers. She hangs her head, letting the water run down through her tangled hair. Through the ringing in her ears she can hear the defective robot's wheel bounce up and down on the terrain. A smooth piece of metal, his arm, rests on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Title Here." she says hoarsely, using the only name she knew him by.

"You pfft forgiven." he says softly. "Please pfft inside. You pfft get a cold." she reluctantly stands up, mud dripping down her legs. Dragging her feet tiredly, she begins to walk into the mess of metal. Then her body seizes up at a low sound. She slowly twists around to see a mass of brown fur with two black eyes. Title Here wheels up next to her, his lights blinking speedily. "Ursus arctos, also known pfft brown bear, identified. Miss pfft, please pfft in the jet."

Ivy's eyes grow wide, and slipping in the mud she scrambles through the doorway of the jet. Title Here moves in in behind her, shifting the emergency door closed. "Pfft behind the bar, pfft Ivy." he says, his automated voice terribly calm as Ivy's heart beats faster and faster. She does as she is told, the robot becoming stationary next to her.

A piercing screech rang out through the jet as the bear's claws raked against the metal. In desperation Ivy grabs Title Here's body, facing his screen towards her. She taps on the surface, frantically trying to type. Frustrated, she shakes him back in forth, tears pouring down her cheeks. "Please please please!" she whimpers.

A thin slot in Title Here's head pops open, a thin piece of metal sliding out. Keys dot the platform, letters and numbers stamped onto each. An old fashioned keyboard?! Ivy thinks, in awe for several seconds.

"Low power pfft," Title Here bleats. "Please pfft charging station." Her mind immediately snaps back to the situation at hand. One finger hitting the page down key, it reveals on Title Here's screen a large empty email page. Ivy's fingers race across the keys, the bear's claws digging deeper into the metal.

Please help me. My mother and father, Kristo and Jane Omnolia along with all of the crew are dead. I am their daughter, Ivy Omnolia. We were flying over Central America the last I knew. Please send help, I'm not sure how much more I can survive.

"Powering pfft." Title Here murmurs, his lights dulling slowly. Ivy searches for the send button, gripping the robot until her knuckles were white. A bright blue button flashes at the bottom of the screen, and the girl swiftly taps it.

This email has no title field. Would you still like to send it?

Title Here's screen begins to dull, and time seems to slow. Each heartbeat squirms its way out of Ivy's chest, and the rain dances harder across the metal surface of the jet. The bear finally rips the emergency door off of its hinges, its black eyes glaring at Ivy's hiding spot behind the bar. Ivy sheds her last tear, and the screens flickers black as her finger brushes the glass.

Send.