Patches: Short Stories

The Adventures of Bob the Robot

Sunlight streamed through the window as Bob buzzed happily on the floor. I picked at my cereal, eating all the plain bits first and saving the berries for last.

It was like this every day. Same old sunlight, same old breakfast, same old day to look forward to.

Nothing ever changed. Nothing interesting ever happened.

Suddenly, Bob started to make screeching noises, zipping erratically around in a corner. I jumped from the table, cereal flying everywhere as I ran to his rescue.

As I knelt beside him, he came to a slow stop in the corner, and gave a slow beep as I placed my hand on his shiny surface.

"Bob? You good, buddy?" I asked, peering anxiously at him.

He gave a disconsolate string of beeps.

Oh, no.

He was sick, and his controls weren't responding. My heart started thumping, and I shakily picked Bob up from the carpet, cradling him gently.

The only thing to do would be to take him to the repair shop. I sighed, getting a padded box to place Bob in for the ride over.

As I walked to the door, box in hand, I passed the fridge, which beeped a salute to the sickly fellow on his way to a checkup.

"There, there, Martha, he'll be fine," I reassured her. "It's only a little motor trouble."

The ice dispenser rattled, and the door clicked open and shut several times.

"You too?" I asked, setting Bob's box carefully on the floor, and going to check Martha all over. Chills ran down my spine as I opened the door, and saw the extent of the trouble. The lights inside were flickering, and the automatic drawers were hanging limply from their tracks. Martha was sick.

"Don't worry," I said, patting her side. "I'll call a repairman for you as soon as I get back with Bob."

Outside, I got into my car, and punched in the coordinates for the repair shop. Bob was sitting silently in his box on the back seat, and I gave him a worried glance. He shouldn't have been this way. Ah, well. The repair shop would know what to do.

I leaned back as Janelle started up, and she steered her way into traffic. The other vehicles on the road passed us smoothly, and I stared mindlessly out at them, waiting for the minutes to pass. Suddenly, I noticed that we were being passed by an unusually large number of cars. I leaned over and checked Janelle's speed.

My heart sank. We were slowing down. We shouldn't have been slowing down, we were nowhere near the shop.

"Janelle?"

She didn't respond, only moved slower and slower along the highway. A police car drew up beside us, and an alert popped up on my phone. We were going too slowly. I glanced up at the officer's stern face, and offered an apologetic look as I leaned over and manually pulled Janelle to a stop. The man nodded, and sped onward, leaving me sitting beside the road, bewildered.

Janelle honked her horn angrily, and I jumped. Janelle never got angry. She was the most docile car in the world, and great with the neighbour's kids. She revved her engine, trying to move, but I had her in a manual stop.

"Janelle," I said firmly. "Stop that right now."

She shoved my seat forward and tipped it all the way flat, pulling tight on the seatbelt. I gasped, stunned at her actions. I had to get out of there, it wasn't safe anymore.

I unbuckled my seat belt quickly, and opened the door, glad that it was on manual as well, or Janelle would have locked me in. I ran to the passenger door and grabbed Bob, who beeped sickly from inside his box.