foible
\ FOI-buhl \ , noun;
1. A minor weakness or failing of character; slight flaw or defect: an all-too-human foible.
2. The weaker part of a sword blade, between the middle and the point (opposed to forte).
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The boy looked curiously at the figure that his small flashlight fell
upon in the corner of the attic. The man stood as far away as possible,
squirming around to keep the probing light off him, so the boy couldn’t
make out any kind of features the man had.
“Are you a bad guy?” The boy asked. The odd man stopped moving briefly, bringing his hand up to his face in thought.
“Bad guy?” He repeated. His voice was soft and quiet. Almost melodic. The boy still couldn’t make out any features, but he was starting to see that there was something odd about the mans skin.
“Uh huh. Mommy says that strange people coming into our house are bad guys. She won’t say why though.” The man thought some more about this.
“I don’t think I’m a bad guy. After all, I have been here for a long time now.” The boy thought about this, and seemed satisfied with that explanation.
“How’d you get here then?”
“I’ve always been here.”
“Why?” A pause. The man started shuffling around again, as if he was nervous about something and didn’t know what to do about it.
“I was...” He paused again, searching for the right word, “made here.” The boy giggled a bit.
“That’s silly. People aren’t made. They’re born.”
“Not me. I was made.”
The boy thought about this statement a bit.
“Are you a robot then?”
“Robot?”
“Yeah, you know. Like a person, buy with metal and wires and stuff.”
“No, I don’t have any of that. I think I’m similar though.”
The boy’s face seemed to light up when he heard that.
“Can I see?”
The man didn’t answer for a bit.
“Alright, but please don’t be scared.” He slowly made his way out from the corner he was in, and came into the more well lit areas of the attic. As soon as he did, it was obvious what was so odd about him. His entire body was clear. The light from the boy’s flashlight shined right through him. He was made of glass. It was as if a fine glass sculpture had somehow come to life. The only part of him that was different was the red, heart shaped piece in his chest, where a normal person’s heart would be.
“Cool!” The boy exclaimed, running over to the glass man, looking intently at him, even passing his hand along to the opposite side of the glass leg, looking at it through the distortion of the glass.
The glass man was obviously not used to this reaction. He looked at the boy playing around. It looked like he wanted to smile, but something kept him from doing so. The boy backed away a bit and looked up into the blank features of the man’s face.
“So what are you doing here?” He asked.
“As I said, I’ve always been here. It’s where I was made.”
“What happened to the person who made you?”
The man looked down a bit and sighed.
“He left.”
“Why?”
“I think it’s because he made a mistake with me.” The boy looked the man up and down, but as far as his young eyes could tell, the glass man was just like a normal person, except that he was see-through.
“He did? Where?”
The man knelt down, and put his face close to the boys.
“Right here.” He said, pointing out a tiny, thin crack along his right cheek. It was so faint that it could only be seen if someone was looking for it. He stood up again, this time pointing out the heart in his chest. “And here.” He said, almost sadly. Again, any crack that might have been there was so faint that it could hardly be seen.
“Why are those so bad? You can’t even see them really.”
“It didn’t matter to him. The man who made me hated to make mistakes. I saw him throw many things away just because he saw something wrong with them. I think the only reason he didn’t throw me out is because I could just walk back in.”
The boy laughed a bit at that. Then still smiling, he went over to the glass man and looked at the heart again. It seemed to be glowing faintly, like a candle in a paper lantern. He didn’t know if it was because of the glowing, or because of the glass in the way, but he couldn’t see even the smallest of cracks there.
“How’d he mess up this part?” He asked, pointing it out, “It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong with it.”
“There is. It’s on the inside. You see, I have emotions, just like anyone else. I have felt lonely, and sad, and sometimes even angry. He made my heart so that I could. But, because he made just that single tiny mistake, I can’t show what I feel. Maybe it’s also because of the mistake on my face, but no matter what I do, I can’t show my emotions. I can’t smile, or cry, or anything like that.” He sighed again and sat down on a nearby wooden box.
“Oh.” The boy thought a bit. It seemed like the man didn’t want to talk about that anymore, so he figured that he would ask something different. “So what do you do here? I mean, you can’t just wait around or anything. That would be boring. So what do you do?”
Even through the man’s emotionless face, the question seemed to cheer him up. He stood up and rummaged a bit in a large pile of things near the far wall. He found what he was looking for, and turned back to the boy, showing him a small glass figure. It was a bird. A pigeon most likely, but it was so well made that it seemed like it would start flying around the room at any moment.
“I think my maker wanted me to help his work. He made it so I can shape glass with my hands. Watch.” He went back to the pile and pulled out a shapeless lump of glass. He held it up and moved the fingers of his other hand along the side. The glass yielded to him as if it was clay. “I stay here and made things I see out of glass like this.”
“How many did you make.”
The man didn’t respond. Instead he went over to what seemed like a large shelf with a cover over it. He pulled to cover off, revealing what must have been hundreds of glass figures, all of them just as well made and detailed as the pigeon. The boy’s eyes widened when he saw them all. The looked at the man, and then to his handiwork.
“You must’ve really been here a long time to make this many.” He said, looking over the many figures that lined the shelf.
“By the way, my name’s Ian. What’s yours?”
“I never got a name.” The boy nodded to himself.
“Ok, I’ll think of one for you then. I’ll probably have it by tonight. See you then.” He said, opening the door and tiptoeing back to his room.
“Are you a bad guy?” The boy asked. The odd man stopped moving briefly, bringing his hand up to his face in thought.
“Bad guy?” He repeated. His voice was soft and quiet. Almost melodic. The boy still couldn’t make out any features, but he was starting to see that there was something odd about the mans skin.
“Uh huh. Mommy says that strange people coming into our house are bad guys. She won’t say why though.” The man thought some more about this.
“I don’t think I’m a bad guy. After all, I have been here for a long time now.” The boy thought about this, and seemed satisfied with that explanation.
“How’d you get here then?”
“I’ve always been here.”
“Why?” A pause. The man started shuffling around again, as if he was nervous about something and didn’t know what to do about it.
“I was...” He paused again, searching for the right word, “made here.” The boy giggled a bit.
“That’s silly. People aren’t made. They’re born.”
“Not me. I was made.”
The boy thought about this statement a bit.
“Are you a robot then?”
“Robot?”
“Yeah, you know. Like a person, buy with metal and wires and stuff.”
“No, I don’t have any of that. I think I’m similar though.”
The boy’s face seemed to light up when he heard that.
“Can I see?”
The man didn’t answer for a bit.
“Alright, but please don’t be scared.” He slowly made his way out from the corner he was in, and came into the more well lit areas of the attic. As soon as he did, it was obvious what was so odd about him. His entire body was clear. The light from the boy’s flashlight shined right through him. He was made of glass. It was as if a fine glass sculpture had somehow come to life. The only part of him that was different was the red, heart shaped piece in his chest, where a normal person’s heart would be.
“Cool!” The boy exclaimed, running over to the glass man, looking intently at him, even passing his hand along to the opposite side of the glass leg, looking at it through the distortion of the glass.
The glass man was obviously not used to this reaction. He looked at the boy playing around. It looked like he wanted to smile, but something kept him from doing so. The boy backed away a bit and looked up into the blank features of the man’s face.
“So what are you doing here?” He asked.
“As I said, I’ve always been here. It’s where I was made.”
“What happened to the person who made you?”
The man looked down a bit and sighed.
“He left.”
“Why?”
“I think it’s because he made a mistake with me.” The boy looked the man up and down, but as far as his young eyes could tell, the glass man was just like a normal person, except that he was see-through.
“He did? Where?”
The man knelt down, and put his face close to the boys.
“Right here.” He said, pointing out a tiny, thin crack along his right cheek. It was so faint that it could only be seen if someone was looking for it. He stood up again, this time pointing out the heart in his chest. “And here.” He said, almost sadly. Again, any crack that might have been there was so faint that it could hardly be seen.
“Why are those so bad? You can’t even see them really.”
“It didn’t matter to him. The man who made me hated to make mistakes. I saw him throw many things away just because he saw something wrong with them. I think the only reason he didn’t throw me out is because I could just walk back in.”
The boy laughed a bit at that. Then still smiling, he went over to the glass man and looked at the heart again. It seemed to be glowing faintly, like a candle in a paper lantern. He didn’t know if it was because of the glowing, or because of the glass in the way, but he couldn’t see even the smallest of cracks there.
“How’d he mess up this part?” He asked, pointing it out, “It doesn’t look like anything’s wrong with it.”
“There is. It’s on the inside. You see, I have emotions, just like anyone else. I have felt lonely, and sad, and sometimes even angry. He made my heart so that I could. But, because he made just that single tiny mistake, I can’t show what I feel. Maybe it’s also because of the mistake on my face, but no matter what I do, I can’t show my emotions. I can’t smile, or cry, or anything like that.” He sighed again and sat down on a nearby wooden box.
“Oh.” The boy thought a bit. It seemed like the man didn’t want to talk about that anymore, so he figured that he would ask something different. “So what do you do here? I mean, you can’t just wait around or anything. That would be boring. So what do you do?”
Even through the man’s emotionless face, the question seemed to cheer him up. He stood up and rummaged a bit in a large pile of things near the far wall. He found what he was looking for, and turned back to the boy, showing him a small glass figure. It was a bird. A pigeon most likely, but it was so well made that it seemed like it would start flying around the room at any moment.
“I think my maker wanted me to help his work. He made it so I can shape glass with my hands. Watch.” He went back to the pile and pulled out a shapeless lump of glass. He held it up and moved the fingers of his other hand along the side. The glass yielded to him as if it was clay. “I stay here and made things I see out of glass like this.”
“How many did you make.”
The man didn’t respond. Instead he went over to what seemed like a large shelf with a cover over it. He pulled to cover off, revealing what must have been hundreds of glass figures, all of them just as well made and detailed as the pigeon. The boy’s eyes widened when he saw them all. The looked at the man, and then to his handiwork.
“You must’ve really been here a long time to make this many.” He said, looking over the many figures that lined the shelf.
“Long enough that I remember when people used candles instead of light bulbs.”
The
boy thought about this, not really being able to think of such a thing,
he gave up trying to figure out just how long that must have been.
“And you’ve only stayed in here?” He asked, waving his arms around to indicate the attic.
“Yes. Most people don’t act like you do around me. They get scared, and usually run.
Or the try and break me. I usually just try and be as quiet as possible whenever someone new moves in.”
“Don’t you get lonely?”
“Very. I’m sure that I would have lost my mind if I had one.”
The boy didn’t seem to like this very much.
“Ok. From now on, I’m going to come up here every night, so you don’t get lonely anymore.”
“Really? You will?” The man’s voice sounded hopeful, even if it didn’t show on his face.
“Yup. I can even bring other things for you to do. I can probably get a lot of stuff you can use.”
“Thank
you. I think I feel...happy right now.” The man said. It looked like
he was trying to smile, but his mouth wouldn’t move the way he wanted
it to. He looked up, out the small round window, and saw the sun coming
up. “But right now, I think you need to go, before your parents notice
you’re not in your room.”
The boy turned and saw the sun coming up. He nodded to the glass man and moved
to the entrance of the attic. Before he left though, he turned around and faced the man.“By the way, my name’s Ian. What’s yours?”
“I never got a name.” The boy nodded to himself.
“Ok, I’ll think of one for you then. I’ll probably have it by tonight. See you then.” He said, opening the door and tiptoeing back to his room.
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It's times like these that I wish I had given myself a higher word count to work with. Oh well. Not sure if I'm going to continue this here on the blog or not yet. I might continue it elsewhere though, turning it into a full sized short story, since there is a lot I would have like to do with these characters. What do you guys think?
Good idea. I like What's His Name!
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