Anger, Rags and Furballs

~For the Sci-fi Short Story Smackdown~ Pictures used: 2, 5, 7 and 8.

 Anger, Rags and Fur balls

 Have you ever been so angry, you built a giant robot so you could crush your enemies?

 Jonathan wished he had that kind of fury, but it looked like his anger wasn't enough. He stared at his rag and pipe creation and groaned. This was nothing like the amazing clockwork and steam powered robot he had created earlier. Unfortunately that one was destroyed by Jonathan's mother. She deemed it too dangerous. 

 Now Jonathan was stuck with this over sized, dirty rag doll. It had taken him three hours - which was very fast for him - to build this replacement robot that didn't even work. It didn't move or talk or  anything. It just slumped down on the table like it was asleep. If Jonathan took that thing to the Young Inventors Convention, he would be laughed out of the place. Still, that was slightly better than the alternative: showing up empty handed or not showing up at all. He would be made a disgrace to inventor society.

 Jonathan sat down next to his creation and buried his head on his grease stained hands. The small and dark shack spun around him. Th nonstop building had affected his head. It didn't help that his makeshift laboratory smelled like humidity and motor oil.

 Jonathan stood up, almost falling over in his clumsiness. He needed to move around or the fumes would consume him. He paced back and forth across the room, looking at everything except his broken rag robot.

 His mother hated when he spent too much time in the basement. She said it was too dingy, too dark, too dangerous. Jonathan understands his mother's concern, but she overreacts quickly. Inventing is Jonathan's passion, but his mother sees it as a dangerous waste of time.

 "Do you even read the news," she would say, "Boys about your age steamed to death because of one of those robots."

 Yes, he knew building is dangerous. Yes, he knew it was more dangerous when you add steam power and amateurs. Yes, he knew to be careful. His mother still wouldn't let the topic go. Her most recent fight with her son just happened that morning. She disintegrated Jonathan's entry into a million tiny pieces and "forbade him" from participating in the Young Inventors Convention.

 "I have told you time and time again," she had yelled, as she swept up from the kitchen floor what was left of the magnificent robot, "It's way too dangerous to go to one of those conventions. You never know when one of those robots go berserk."

 "It's complely safe!" Jonathan yelled back, "I had worked for months on that robot."

 "Then it was just a matter of time until it killed you. You know what happened to your father."

 Jonathan's father was killed by a malfunctioning robot. Jonathan was too young too remember, but his mother certainly hasn't forgotten.

 As Jonathan walked in his shack, the door barged open. Jonathan squinted his eyes at the door and saw Theodore striding in, swaying his cat tail and petting his whiskers. A freak accident had turned Theodore into a walking, talking tiger, but after he got over the initial shock he embraced his interesting new form. Holding tools was a little harder, but he found a way around it.

 "Who's ready for the Young Inventors Convention?" Theodore yelled.

 Jonathan narrowed his eyes at his best friend. Theodore simply rolled his eyes. "Sheesh, rough crowd." He pushed over the rag robot and sat on his chair. "So, where is that magnificent robot you built for tonight."

 Jonathan groaned, "You just pushed him out of his chair."

 Theodore gave him a puzzled look and looked at the rag robot. "Now that's just sad."

 Jonathan groaned. Theodore added,  "What happened to your other robot?"

 "My mother destroyed it. She thought it was too dangerous."

 "Well, the axe was a little much, but it still was amazing.'

 Jonathan groaned and banged his head against the wall. Theodore picked up the robot and placed it on it's chair. It slumped forward lifelessly.

 "What is it supposed to do, anyway?" Theodore asked.

 Jonathan sighed, "It's supposed to be like a helper, a companion of some sort."

 Theodore was quiet for a moment. "No weapons?"