The Inventor | Teen Ink

The Inventor

May 11, 2011
By SlightlyNHK SILVER, San Deigo, California
SlightlyNHK SILVER, San Deigo, California
6 articles 1 photo 4 comments

Upon the gray sheets of London lay a shop. Within this shop lived an outstanding inventor. He had little beady eyes and a white beard that bristled in the light, for he was getting quite old. He wore a leather apron upon a white polo that wasn’t white anymore. His shop was quite dark, and lonesome; all there was was the quite humming of the many machines and a causal clink here and there of the little toys he created. As the days go by, he wanted to make something that would fill his old dying heart.
He started working, with many gears, washers, bolts, a welding iron, and a screw here and there. At last he is done. A robot was what he had created, one that would fill his old dying heart. He starts her up, but nothing would work. A sudden spark, and many parts came apart! Old inventor had given up, just as a little girl comes in the shop. Eyes wide, she sees all the machines, moving around, making sounds; she comes to see the old inventor.
“What a beautiful shop you have!” said she. The old inventor had nothing to say; he was struck by this sudden appearance.
“Oh,” he said, “it’s not that great, many of these machines are loosing their parts, gathering rust, and don't work the way they should.” The little girl walks around the shop, looking at every last corner her eyes could see.
“Soon,” the old inventor continues “I will not work the same, as my machines age, I soon to rust inside.” The girl stops, and looks at the old man. A tear streaked down her gentle cheeks, and she felt sympathy for this man, rusting away with no one else, but only himself.

“I shall make a promise to you, old man,” says the girl “I shall come every day, till you shall rust your last.” She holds up a little toy, and examines it closely.
“Let me see that,” says the inventor. The girl gives him the toy, and with fast hands, he fixes it in less than you can blink! He winds it and sets the toy on the ground. He lets it go, and sparks come to life out! Dancing flames of all colors, blue, green, red, purple, yellow, too many to name! The old inventor was bestowed with a smile through his wrinkly face, and his beady eyes look upon the girl. She smiles, as she jumps in excitement.

“Oh! This toy is so wonderful!” she cries out in joy, “Did you really make this?”
“Yes,” he replied, “I make everything you see in this shop, from little toys like these, to the many you see high up as the ceiling.”
“For sure, I shall come every day! But for now, I will say good bye.” And the girl left, as quickly as she appeared. The inventor, still smiling, now was back at work, making more wonderful toys for the girl to see each day. By the time night came down upon London, he had built so many machines that would fill the delight of a child. Dragons that spit out flames, and sparks of all colors. Horses that would gallop at your feet. Birds that would flap, up to the highest a bird could fly. All for this one child, a child that brought his rusting heart to a stop.
The morning came, and the old inventor was fixing some other toys that might delight his visitor. The old clock gave a ring, saying it was 9 o’clock. The door opened, and came in the girl. Her hair was golden, and her curls could trap anyone who tried to brush her hair. Her face was delicate, like a fairy that came right out of a book. And her eyes, her big blue eyes were filled as an ocean would be filled.
“Good morning!” she said, and came straight to the old man.
“My, good morning to you. You look lovely today.” Said the old inventor.
“My, what is that I see?” The girl was looking curiously around the old man.
“Ah, so you’ve spotted my surprise. Well, come and see.” He moved away so the girl could see, and what did she see? She saw the dragons, the horses, and the birds ready to fly. Her eyes grew wider than before.
“Can you show me how they work?”
“Of course.” The inventor picked the dragon first. He wound it up, and placed it down. And out came the flames, and sparks, greater than the ones she saw the first day. Next was the horse; he wound up the horse, and placed it on the ground, and out went the horse galloping through the store door. Finally, the birds, winding them up carefully, he threw them into the air of the shop, and they flew out around the shop, as if they were real. The girl was filled with so much joy; she couldn’t help but to smile, and to be in awe.
Once all the toys had stopped, the girl clapped her hands and started giggling.
“I can’t wait to see how much more you can create!” Her smile turned the gears in the old inventors heart, because he couldn't stop there quite yet. He wanted to build, and build, until this girl could give a giggle or a smile no more.
“I will come every day when the clock turns to 9.” She said, and she left once again, as suddenly as she arrived. The old inventor, sat there, and pondered on what he should build next. A wild idea came to mind. He rushed to his parts, grabbed all the washers, gears, bolts, screws, and even some wheels. He worked all night, giving no rest to his hands. He never once gave a yawn, or a pause on that busy night.

The morning came, and the clock said 8:58. He turned his chair, and faced the door, giving off quite a smile. He stared with his beady eyes, and waited for the door to burst open with the little girl, with her giggles, her smile, her curly hair, and her beautiful eyes.
The clock rang, it was 9 o’clock. But, nothing happened.
“She must just be late,” the inventor said to himself, “her mother must be keeping her back for a while.” He waited, and waited. Staring at the door with his beady eyes. The morning gave way for the afternoon. Nothing. Afternoon became evening, and the sun was setting behind the dark sheet over London. Still, nothing. The inventor’s smile became a frown. However, “She must come tomorrow, for surly she must have a reason why she has not arrived.” And off he went to bed.
The morning came; it was already 9 o’clock, and still no girl. The day went slowly, and the inventor just stared at the door with his black beady eyes, waiting. Waiting for a bright young angel to come in his shop to bring light, and happiness. But she didn’t come that day. The inventor, slowly losing his hope that she would return was dying away. And off he went to bed, and hoped she would come the next day.
Once again, the morning came. It was a Sunday, when the newspapers came. He got out of bed, and went to his door; at his feet laid the paper, as well as the horse that galloped into the store door. The old inventor picked up both, and placed the horse on a shelf. He folded out the newspaper, and read.
A tear formed in his eye, he couldn’t keep it in, and he cried. His old heart began to rust even more. He threw himself onto his chair, and placed the newspaper on his lap. It read, “Young Girl Has Died in a Car Crash. Description: Curly golden hair, a smile, a giggle here and there, as well as a pair of great blue eyes. The inventor, lying upon his chair, wept even more, as the machine he had created was a human. A human that could walk and talk, but was never seen by any other eye, than the old man’s black beady eyes.
The old inventor had lost all he could have wanted, and his heart had rusted to nothing now, just a pile of old scraps lay in the bottom of his stomach. He was now broken, and could never work again.

The author's comments:
I got bored, and thought of this idea :)

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