Disclaimer: Twilight belongs to Stephenie Meyer and Clannad belongs to Key Animation
Unknown POV
Unknown Time
The girl created my body from junk.
A piece of it fell off and bounced off the dead grass we stood in, in this never-ending field. As if I'm as dead as the grass under my feet, pieces of me just fall off every now and then. As if I'm a corpse. I shudder at the thought and, because my body is made of inanimate metal things, I can't control the loud clanking.
Still, if she can create me, a doll with a will of its own, she could create something else like me. There was plenty of junk to do it with, if you bothered to look around.
I wanted her to make someone else. Or better still, I wanted to make them. It was something that had been on my mind since the girl and I ventured outside, into the barren field. She and I were always together now, never apart. But there was one person missing from our group. Someone I missed terribly, though I couldn't put a face to the feeling.
As I'm sure the girl had done for me, I begin to collect pieces of broken metal and parts. Rusted, broken, useless by themselves. Junk.
The girl watches me curiously as I attempt to put everything together and make a body. But it won't work. No matter how hard I try, everything keeps falling apart. As if she finally understood what I wanted, the girl sit down to help me with the construction.
This time, it works.
As we labor, she points to my metal chest. Do you want a new body?
I cross my arms across my chest, motioning that I'm fine with the way I am. I don't want a new body.
...a friend? Do you want to make a new friend?
That's not really it, either. Somehow, the word "friend" just doesn't seem right. I want to tell her about the feeling I have that something is missing in our world. Someone. I want to tell her that I've felt this way before. That she and I and this missing person had lived on our own before, and we were always happy together. That we could be happy again if this someone were with us again.
Still, the end result would be the same, so I nod.
I see. Being alone is sad, isn't it? I'm sorry.
That was not what I'd meant at all. Still, I could make no sound. I couldn't tell her that she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion. I could only stare up at her face soundlessly.
She frowns as she tells me, It might be impossible. Do you still want to try?
I nod.
Then let me try.
The girl begins to assemble to junk herself. We end up being a bit short on parts, so we go outside again and search for more.
How many trips outside have we made now? Pondering this question, I only begin to understand how difficult it must have been for the girl to make my body. And she'd done it alone.
We spend the entire day looking for junk. Standing on the top of the hill our little house sits on, we look out over the horizon. The view continues forever, no other buildings in sight. No signs of life anywhere. Not even plants.
Look.
When I turn towards the girl's voice, I see she is holding a lone animal to her chest. I stare. Something other than us lives in this world?
It had fluffy white fur and two winding horns next to its ears. Something about it made me not like it. I didn't want to look at it. There's something not quite right with it. Still, the girl liked petting it. She pats its head and belly. Then she turns and climbs the hill back towards our little home.
As we reach the peak, a group of these strange animals approaches us. They vary in shape in size, but they are all the same kind of creature. The girl puts down the one she has in her arms. It walks off to join the others, not looking back, completely unconcerned.
That's what was so strange about them. They aren't living. All they do is exist. They have no "hearts," no attachments to anything. Not even amongst their own group. They merely eat and wander.
What's wrong? Are you mad?
No, more sad. Why are we so alone here? What is missing from our lives? I knew this world would be a hard place to live in, but I hadn't imagined it would be so painful. And then, as if she could hear my thoughts...
...I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do about it.