Words With Friends

by Mizhowlinmad (HBF), 2015

Disclaimer: Chappie and its characters belong to N. Blomkamp/MRC/Tristar.

"Son of a CUNT! Look at that!" Daddy whistles softly as I shoot another row of bottles. "He's a fuckin' natural!"

I don't know why he wants me to do this. I've been doing it for a long time now and I'm bored. I want to play. Bottles are nothing like people. They never did anything to anyone. But he is not angry with me for a change. So, I keep shooting until all the bottles are only broken pieces.

Uncle Amerika watches from the side, where he leans against a wall. He never seems to get angry, at least not like Daddy. "Another day of this and he'll be ready, you think?" he says.

Daddy looks at him, not at me. "He better. We're in some deep shit if he's not."

"What is deep shit, Daddy?" I ask, still holding my gun. It sounds so interesting. Deeeeep shiiiiiit. I love the way that sounds.

They stare at me like I've done something wrong. I feel my ears sinking lower and prepare for the worst. But they both laugh. Which is strange, because they are not smiling. I thought people always smiled when they laughed.

I have not learned how to laugh yet. I hope I can.

"Deep shit is, like, when you're really fucked. Your ass is grass. Sleeping six feet under," Daddy explains, taking the gun from me and putting a fresh clip into it. "Fucked up and down and sideways. By that cocksucker Hippo and his boys if we don't pay them back on time. That's why we're here. You think all this here is fun and games? Do you?"

Since I don't know how to answer, I only say, "No, Daddy. I'm sorry."

"Stop fucking saying that! You're supposed to be tough, like, a real gangsta," he reminds me, turning away and pointing the gun at the bottles that are still left. "You don't want to be some poes who licks balls and gets pushed around, do you, Chappie?"

He used my name. I like it when he does that. My ears flick upward. "No, Daddy. I don't want to lick balls," I say, even though I'm not sure what it means either. I only want to make him happy. It's not as easy to do that like it is with Mommy.

"Then keep fucking practicing. No more fooling around, right?"

So I shoot. And shoot some more. Daddy and Uncle are happy; I can tell because of the noises they are making. I don't know how they could ever be happy about shooting people, even if they are bad like the men Daddy told me about.

Nothing should have to die. Not people, not the rats, not even the bottles. Why do things die? I don't know that either.

I tell myself that, even though I am making a mess, that I will save the broken pieces and make something. Not in front of Daddy, because he'd be angry, but later. For Mommy. She likes the things I give her: my paintings, my drawings, my flower made out of metal.

There is a pile of metal casings on the ground now. I wonder if I could make something else out of them. More flowers, maybe. I've been shooting for a while now. How long? I don't know. Time is a strange thing. It doesn't mean a lot to me, but Daddy and Uncle, and even Mommy, are always talking about it, how important it is. They say my first word was "watch," which is how they tell the time. How long is a day, a week, a year? I hope I'm able to figure it out.

"Jesus fucking Christ. Nothing left, man," Daddy says from somewhere behind me. He and Uncle are smoking, which is another thing that makes no sense to me, setting paper on fire. But I know not to ask about it. "Give him a real weapon and we'll pull off this fucking heist no problem, eh?"

"Those cabrones won't know what fuckin' hit 'em," agrees Uncle.

I say, "Did I do good, Daddy? Am I still gangsta number one?" This is a phrase Daddy taught me, and even if I don't know quite what it means, I like the way it sounds.

He puts a hand on my shoulder. "For a poes wanker who doesn't want to kill peoples, you did all right, Chappie. You're our secret weapon, our robot gangsta number one."

Even if I'm not really able to, I feel like I'm smiling.

~~s~~

Finally, Mommy is back. She has brought a paper bag with her, which she places on the table.

"Chappie, there you are. You been good while I was out?" she asks. For some reason, she sounds sad. More than usual. I have noticed about Mommy that she is always kind of sad, just like Daddy is always kind of angry.

I show her what I made. I hope it will make her happy. "Look, Mommy. It's so pretty. It's the same colors as you." I have strung together the pieces of bottles into something called a mobile, which hangs up and catches light. It is almost as beautiful as Mommy, but not quite.

"You made that? You are so talented, Chappie," she says, and takes my hand. "You should do more of them if you want."

"I want to make more. I can make a lot more, since Daddy made me shoot all those bottles today."

Mommy sighs, which is when air comes out of a person's mouth. Another thing that I can't do. She takes the mobile, holds it up to the sunlight so that it sparkles. Then she puts it down and sighs again. "I don't know if that's such a good idea." She doesn't look at me when she says this, and squeezes my hand tighter. "Lots more important things to do right now. You know what important is, Chappie?"

I do. I'm about to tell her making things is important, and why, but Daddy and Uncle come in from outside first. They head right for the bag. "Fuck, I was wondering when you'd get here. I'm starving. Where you been, anyway?"

"Out. Doing that shit that needed done, Ninja." Mommy doesn't look at Daddy when she says this. "And getting us something to eat. Chicken Licken this time. I'm lucky no one spotted me. It's getting cold, so hurry the fuck up."

That is a funny name, "Chicken Licken." It makes me think of Mr. Chicken, who is under the bed right now, and how strange it would be to lick him, if I had a tongue. I don't think he would like that very much. I stand and watch Mommy, Daddy, and Uncle digging into the bag and eating the food with their hands. People need to eat food for energy. Why don't they have their own energy, like I do? It would make more sense.

I feel like Mommy is happy now that she is home and has eaten food. "I learned lots of things today," I say, and I am bouncing on my feet. I do that when I feel excited. "Daddy and Uncle showed me all about guns and how they work. And so many new words, Mommy! Like 'shitdeeper' and 'suckingcock' and 'boydick,' and…Mommy, did I say something bad?"

Uncle makes a funny sound, like a sneeze, but not. Daddy actually laughs, like what I said is funny. Mommy doesn't seem happy anymore. She has a frown on her face and is staring at Daddy. One of her eyebrows is raised.

"You been running your mouth with him, Ninja? He picks up on all that kak whether you want him to or not."

"Oh, come off it. He's gotta be tough, he's got to be one bad-ass motherfucker, besides, it's not like we give a shit…"

"Don't you mean fuckmother, Daddy?"

"Shut your klap, Chappie."

"Leave him alone, he never meant nobody any harm!" Mommy is angrier than I have ever seen her. And then, before I can say anything else, they are yelling at one another, which is when people use their very loud voices. I hear lots of the words I learned today, and a few new ones like cuntface and asshole. I will have to remember those. I only wish I had the words to stop the yelling, because it hurts. Mommy and Daddy are walking off to the bedroom, still yelling. Only Uncle and I are left. I feel my ears falling again. This is my fault.

"Did I say the words the wrong way? Or are those bad words?" I ask Uncle, because I'm sure he is not angry with me.

He shakes his head. "Nah. This is normal for them, amigo. Two of them get going, they're like cats in fucking heat, man. Nothing you can do, 'cept let it blow over." He adds, "As for bad words, ain't no such thing here, so you ain't got nothin' to worry about."

I don't know what 'blow over' means, and I don't feel like asking. "Do Mommy and Daddy still love each other? Do they love me?"

He doesn't say anything for a moment. "That's not the word I'd use. I guess, in their own weird way, they do. Got a lot on their minds right now, which is why you gotta stick to the plan. Remember? Gangsta number one?" He holds out his hand.

I fist-bump with him. "Gangsta number one, fuckmother suck-cocker haul-asser!"

This time, he laughs. "You are one fucked up robot, you know that?"

In the other room, I can still hear Mommy and Daddy's voices. They come in and out of the room. They sound angry still, but I know they are not angry with me. That makes me happy enough. If Uncle is right, they'll be finished soon, and I can play or make some more pretty things.

Even here, there are pretty things. I have to look to find them, but they're here. When I make another, I will give it to Mommy so she won't be sad anymore.

I think the right word for that is "Fucking A." Pretty sure.

Fini