Blood.

Wasn't that a normal bodily fluid?

So it is made in humans, correct? Just as natural as saliva, or sperm in men, or dry bile? But humans were living, breathing creatures with real bones and skin. They originated as tiny water sacs that developed into strong, muscular people. They weren't invented.

They had evolved.

So how was it possible for Edward to bleed? Wasn't he just a bunch of steel parts under a tight, black suit? Or was he flesh and toned muscle with stitches holding him together? It would have been too hard and rigorous to insert veins into my system, asserted Edward. No one would want to do that for a robot. But, then, what was that sensation he felt when one of his blades cut across his cheek, or the red liquid that fell in thick globs on the wooden hardwood floor. He didn't have sensory nerves, or a nervous system. But he had a brain and a heart. Were they even real? Could they ever make me real?

---

It was a normal day in Suburbia, normal as normal could possibly be. The only difference happened that a scissor handed man now occupied Peg's house. He was an adoptive son of sorts, filling in while the eldest daughter was away for the summer. His name was Edward, and the strangest boy you would ever meet in your life time. He never said a word, completely content to be silent. Black, disheveled hair stood up on end, reminding the neighborhood of a once-young Einstein. Edward seemed to have translucent skin, covered in old scars and newly formed cuts. He may have once been handsome, but years serving in that castle's solitude hadn't done him good.

One of Edward's favorite pastimes involved trimming hair. In fact, he had his own salon in the local downtown shopping center. People flocked from miles just to see his fabled action, for he was the best barber in town. In fact, he was the only barber in town. His service outlaid nothing but a smile and nod, for if handshakes were exchanged Edward would hurt the other. If it weren't for that shop, Edward would've been killed on the spot.

Before the salon he owned a bush trimming business, and ever since then was welcomed with open arms. His scissors were miracle makers, no longer just intimidating weapons. In fact, Edward never hurt anyone with those hands of his, not even while trimming hair.

Sometimes he wished he could.

---

Our story starts with this uncommonly gentle man filling in requests for hairstyles, Peg chirping away at the phone

"…No, I don't think that he would like to be interviewed. You see, he's very shy," explained Edward surrogate mother, the phone cord dragging behind her like a lost puppy. "Maybe another time, OK?" She hung up on the spot.

Edward was too busy snipping away at Joyce's auburn colored ringlets to notice anything else. As hair fell around his feet Edward paused for a moment, inspecting his latest creation.

"Oh, Eddie. Don't stop, please!" Edward could feel his skin prickle at Joyce's begging whine. His hatred for the woman escaladed throughout the first few weeks of him being here, especially after… well, what she showed him. Not knowing anyone here had its down sides, but lack of identification at what other were doing really got him flustered. When he told Mr. Boggs about this, the man didn't even seem to care.

Edward turned his head slightly, a scornful sneer appearing on his carved up lips. He usually wasn't so devious, finding comfort in knowing that he "was a caring, young man." But his rage with Joyce sent him over the edge, just slightly. Except he couldn't hurt her, no matter how much wanted or longed for.

As Edward continued trimming, he noticed that his blades were beginning to grow stiff. He remembered Mr. Boggs describing this as "Rusting." Luckily, Edward finished Joyce's hair cut without any dilemma. He would fix the problem later.

Gently tapping Joyce on the shoulder, Edward showed her the mirror, feeling nervous. The shrill scream echoed among his pasty walls, signaling fear within him. "Oh, Edward! I love it!" Turning, she puckered her lips, attempting to kiss him dryly. But the panicked boy swiped at her, his blades cutting furiously. She shrieked again, jumping back like kangaroos on crack. Edward has swung his arm a little too hard, the scissors sinking deep into his pasty white skin. Edward didn't even wince as the metal objects made their way through, leaving a light, red line.

Peg dropped her phone and ran to him, grabbing his cheeks with both hands. "Edward! Are you ok? Are you bleeding?" As she dabbed the cut with antibiotic, Edward felt a pin rack his chest. It wasn't Peg's fault, or the cut. Red liquid started to seep out of the wound, but Edward knew better to believe. It was only paint, after all.

He looked at her, cola eyes merging with deep brown orbs. His voice was barely a whisper. "I… can't."

---

Edward recoiled as Jim threw a kick to his chest. He heaved, the pain so immense if felt like a runaway train. "Beast!" he shouted, stamping him down with sharp, steel toed boots. He shut his eyes, trying to imagine himself back with Peg and Kevin. Jim pounded his back, trying to break through the almost invincible black suit. Lifting himself up, Edward tried to crawl away on his hands and knees, fleeing from Jim. "Oh, no you don't!"

He couldn't quite remember what he had done wrong to deserve Jim's hatred, but whatever it was it had been severe. Edward had helped Jim break into his parents house, and serve the consequences instead of him. He lad left Kim, just as Jim had asked of him. Edward even went to the mansion, knowing Jim would look for him back at the Boggs.

But no matter how far Edward crawled, the saucy bow would follow. Jim never explained his obsession with Edward, or his need to make the other feel pain. It was as if Jim were digging for an unknown treasure, digging deeper than expected. Maybe it was the robot's love for Kim that drove Jim to madness, the thought of a living being falling for a machine. Whatever the reason, Edward did not deserve cruelty.

"Why don't you say something?" Jim egged, tossing Edward aside. "Beg for your precious Kimmy? PLEASE!" A blow to his mouth, Edward's head snapping sideways. Rust coloring flowed from his jaw, down his chin and onto his clothes. Jim didn't seem to notice, too preoccupied with his boots. "Speak, you devil. SPEAK!"

Edward would not say a word, no matter how badly Jim begged. His lack of movements signaled that Jim was becoming both tired and bored of this game. "Fine." Jim stood taller, and grabbed the edge of Edward's collar, lifting him off of the ground. He slapped him harshly across the face.

"Cry for me."

Edward was dumbstruck. "That's right," Jim sneered, hitting him yet again across his already bruised cheek. "Maybe we'll get too see some emotion in your lifeless face." Or maybe you'll knock my head off, though Edward hatefully.

Slam.

Slam.

BAM!

When hours had struck the clock Jim let go. Edward crumpled in a heap at his feet. "Never. Touch. Kim. Again." He took out a dagger from his back pocket. "Or I'll kill you." Knife to his throat, Edward nodded solemnly. With that, Jim left the attic, not looking back at his captive.

---

Kim's arms were around Edward's waist, her head gently on his shoulder. She buried herself deeper into his grasp, Edward tightening. This was extremely dangerous, for if Edward slipped up just an inch he could kill Kim. The thought made him squeamish, deciding to push away to create some space.

Hurt brewed in Kim's dark eyes. "Edward…" He couldn't look at her, not even for a second. There was no way Edward could stare into those lonely orbs, those endless pits of love. Sensing his resentment, Kim took his chin in a dainty hand, gently turning it so their eyes met. "I love you, Edward."

What could he say back? Jim would be here any second, and Edward could already hear the angry mob below. His only response was to stare at her, letting the wordless answer pour out of his eye sockets. Maybe she would get the message.

When the tears banked, Kim fell into Edward with glorious sobs, clenching her teeth so tightly he could see small cracks starting to form. "Hold me." Her majestic whisper filled the jejune attic, the souls of long ago gazing down at the broken couple.

Edward could not cry. He couldn't even make out a sob for his love. Anger started to reform, his blades twitching madly. "I…." Attempting to wrap his arms around the young girl, Edward cut himself deep. Spewing hate exempted out of his heart, trying to hold her tighter. Another gash to the shoulder.

"I…"

Try as he might, nothing that the poor machine did made it any better. Fearing her vexed gaze, he back away from her. How much he wanted to love her, how deeply he yearned for her. It would be better this way.

"I… can't."

The next thing he heard was nothing. Not even a gasp. No footsteps, no screaming. Just… nothing. He stared out the window for what seemed like hours, until he hear the footsteps slowly form, dying away as the auburn door closed with pliable force.

Edward stood there, just stood there with no emotion on his face. Kim was not coming back, that much he knew.

He was breaking down, soon to fall apart. With the enmity of a thousand lions, Edward slammed his sharp sabers into a wooden pole, clutching it with all of his might. Dragging his fingers down the side, he created four long scratch marks, each an inch deep.

Breath hitched, Edward slammed his side into the steak. He was a monster, a useless bunch of junk without any feelings. No wonder Kim had left, no wonder he had been chased back to his prison.

Edward collapsed into a crumpled heap, clutching his sides with the blades of Satan. He shivered, tremors of fear and sadness washing him away like an unwanted memory. For some reason he felt dizzy and as he tried to stand up, found that he could not. Something rose from the back of his stomach, racing up the enflamed esophagus like an uncontrollable rollercoaster. Doubling over, he heaved out yellow, stagnant bile that seemed to drip down his chin nonstop. Edward coughed, for he had never seen anything so distorted and disfigured in all of his life, besides himself. Another bashing wave of nausea crashed over him as he vomited for the second time.

Feeling cold, he pushed his sore carcass against one of the structures, a strange sense of pain washing him away. It didn't feel like any physical pain he had ever encountered, but more internal, deeper. He whispered her name, her sweet, gentle name.

"Kim…"

Edward felt something stream down his cheek, lifting a scissor hand to investigate. He brushed a sharpened knife under his eye, wincing at the sudden pain. The strange liquid continued to run down his cheek, but seemed to be mingled in a warmer, thicker concoction. He let both of them take their course down his face, landing in a small area on his arm.

It was strange, and had a different color, so Edward put his face closer to investigate. What he saw made his heart lurch. The color was a deep, deep red, almost crimson. Moving his sleeve up, he saw that it had bled through the bulletproof suit that he wore, staining his gray skin. Paint did not do that.

"Is this… blood?"

Edward had seen blood before. Like the time had scraped up Kevin's face, or when he cut open Kim's palm. Blood was all around him… only around him. Never had he ever experienced the red jouce flowing through his veins. Putting his blades up to his tongue, he licked them, curious as to the taste. It was foul, not like paint at all. The mixture had the taste of the smell of rust.

His mouth widened into a grin, lowering a scissor-finger to the base of his arm, drawing it along his thick suit. It cut cleanly, leaving the red gash he longed for. Edward leaned against the pole, the strange smile never leaving his face.

"Kim… I'm coming for you…"

He had evolved. He was real.