I am born.

Light fills my vision for the first time, my eyes stinging as they adjust. I hear my own body whir to life with the churning of freshly-oiled gears and the metallic twang of tightening springs. I feel my previously unused joints click and grind as I sit up and find myself staring into the bright blue eyes of a man.

I am not sure how I know he is a man, but something in my memory banks says he is indeed a man. A pair of goggles possessing a multitude of lenses crowns his head, surrounded by an unruly nest of straw-colored hair. His eyes are a cool, soft blue and glitter with excitement. He has a roundish face, his cheeks and small upturned nose dusted with a smattering of freckles. Thin lips are drawn wide in an ecstatic smile.

"By God!" says another man, this one taller, his limbs long and willowy, and his hair a neat patch of orange perched atop his head. "Andrew, you've done it! I can not believe you've actually done it!"

He is smiling as well, and suddenly I realize realize he is smiling at me. This man is smiling at me.

I do not know why, but this makes the gears within my chest spin faster. It feels like there is something caged within me, flying about frantically yet not truly harboring a serious desire to escape.

Andrew's lips quirk upward into a smug grin, then he stands upon the tips of his toes to kiss the other man on his pale cheek. "And you expected any less of me?"

"My apologies, but I can't say I didn't have my doubts." He takes my hands in his own and I instinctively look down. My fingers, wiry and metallic, look nothing like his fleshy, pale digits. I curl my mechanical fingers, and he responds by giving my hands a light squeeze. "The world's first true automation."

The man's dark eyes suddenly light up and he turns eagerly towards his companion. "Andrew, can it speak?"

"I don't know, Harvey," says Andrew, his tone playful and sly. "Why don't you ask it?"

Harvey turns his attention back to me, again offering up that warm smile. "Well, little fellow, can you? Can you speak?"

Something tells me that `to speak' is to do exactly what he is doing, that being to communicate with a series of sounds emitted from his mouth. I can feel that I have no such mouth; the metal flesh upon my face is but a flat plain where my mouth should be. It is strange, I think, to not have a mouth, and with a sudden pang of sadness, I realize this also means that I can not smile back at this man. Is it even possible to speak without a mouth? I am not sure. I guess I will have to try.

"I." My own voice, tinny and quiet, arises from a small speaker box in the center of my chest. It startles me, hearing myself speak, and for a moment I only stare down at the apparatus in bewilderment. At length I collect myself and look up, wishing I could smile at Harvey. "I guess the answer is yes. I can speak."

"Honestly, Harvey," laughing, Andrew strolls over and claps a gloved hand upon my shoulder, "did you really think I'd forget to give it the ability to speak?"

Harvey's cheeks flush pink. "Well, at times you are rather forgetful."

"It not only has the ability to speak, it has the ability to [i]learn[/i]," Andrew continues, ignoring his companion's playful jab at his memory. "I am telling you, Harvey, we are going to make the history books with this one."

Harvey rubs his chin thoughtfully and arches a brow. "I can't say I have any doubts this time." He shakes his head, the orange wisps of his hair gleaming in the dim light. "No doubts at all. This truly is an amazing invention."

Andrew nods in haughty agreement before shucking off his filthy work gloves, which he slaps down onto the worktable upon which I am seated. He removes his goggles from their perch upon his head and stuffs them into one of the table's many drawers. He whistles softly, a single, low note, and drags a hand across his sweat-slicked brow.

After gathering a few tools strewn across the table and subsequently returning them to their rightful homes within his desk, Andrew strides over and slips an arm around Henry's narrow waist. "Now that this business is all over, let's go upstairs and out of this bloody workshop. It's time to celebrate!"

"Oh, most definitely." Henry tilts his head in agreement. He then turns to me and holds out a friendly hand. "And surely you would like to come as well, right little fellow? After all, it is essentially your birthday we're making such a hubbub about."

"Celebrating its birthday?" Andrew disengages from Harvey's waist and chuckles. "Well, you do have a point."

"Precisely! And stop calling him and it. He's clearly a boy."

I immediately like him all the more. I feel that I am neither a female not a genderless it. I am male, or, at least I feel as though I am male, and the fact that Harvey seems to have sensed this makes my attraction to him grow.

"He's right," I say, again startled by the sound of my own voice. "I would very much prefer to be referred to as a male."

"The from now on, a he you shall be." Andrew offers me a solid nod. "Now, let's go upstairs and celebrate, shall we?"

I take Harvey's spidery fingers in my own and he helps me down from the worktable. At first I am uneasy, my movements uncoordinated and my legs clumsy from having never been used. I am steadied, however, by Harvey's gentle hands, and soon enough I find my bearings, managing to balance without the help of his grasp. I can walk!

I look at the two companions, wishing deeply that I could smile at them. "That sounds like a wonderful idea. I would very much like to celebrate with you."

Harvey claps his hands once, a grin lighting up his features. "Splendid!" He makes a bound towards the stairs, a rickety assembly of wooden steps that ascend into the living quarters, and motions for Andrew and I to follow. "Come along now, you two. There is celebrating to be had, and we've no time to waste!"

I follow, my gears ticking delightedly with a feeling that can be none other than happiness.

***

I learn quickly in the months that follow. Harvey and Andrew assimilate me into their family like a third individual of flesh rather than one of clockwork. Yes, they do receive prizes and recognition for what the tabloids call `their incredible advancement in the science of robotics', but they seem to forget they have created a robot, not a person. I do not believe I would enjoy being treated as a robot, so I like this. I like this a great deal, in fact, when the affection comes from Harvey.

Make no mistake, I like my true creator, Andrew, a great deal as well, but my feelings for Harvey extend far beyond the realm of mere `liking'; so far, in fact, that I have no proper word to describe these feelings.

I must be wound every day by way of an enormous key jutting from my back (lest I go into a state of semi-permanent dormancy the two men call `shutting down' or sometimes `winding down') and when it is Harvey who takes on this daily task, I feel a strange rush of almost supernatural joy. He grabs the large key in his gentle fingers and turns it slowly, far more slowly than Andrew ever does. My gears grind against their will, sprockets creak under the pressure, and springs coil tighter with the steady build of mechanical energy. As the energy comes, I feel more alive, my senses sharper than ever, allowing me to feel the full array of my emotions for this man more intensely than any other time of the day.

They are warm emotions, warm like the sun that heats the cobbles in the streets, warm like the fire in the stove that heats the house on chilly nights. Such is odd to me, a creature of cold metal, but, as always, I am too afraid to ask about what these feelings mean. I fear that they may be erroneous and, if they are, surely Andrew will take it upon himself to reprogram me.

If they are something forbidden, I am not yet ready to give them up.

***

I think have finally figured out what these feelings mean, and with them a new emotion has arrived: jealousy.

I begin to notice how Harvey and Andrew often look at one another, how coy smiles are often shared between the two when they think no one else is looking, how pale cheeks flush pink, and black pupils dilate in shining eyes. They lace their fingers together when they walk the streets or kiss each other, not on the cheeks as I often see many platonic couples do, but directly upon the lips. They look at each other in a deeper way than would two mere friends.

After weeks and months of silently observing their seemingly amorous exchanges, I decide to be a little naughty and watch them at night. Nothing in Andrew's extensive library is off-limits to me ("for a learning automation must have a means to learn, after all!") so I have an inkling about what goes on between these two behind closed doors. According to my studies, they seem to be lovers. But I could be wrong. There is still room for error; perhaps they truly are just close friends, and perhaps there is a chance (if they are not lovers) that Harvey may be able to return my feelings. Observing them is the only way to know for sure.

Although I have no need for sleep, the duo have given me my own room that I say in during the night. I quietly get up from my seat at the window (where I do a great deal of pondering and stargazing) and slink over to the door. I turn the knob slowly, carefully, trying my best to make no noise. The hinges creak once, causing me to cringe inwardly, but it seems no one but I heard the noise.

Once I get the door open enough to accommodate my frame, I slip out and tiptoe down the hall. When I reach the closed door of the duo's shared room, I crouch down and press the lens of one eye to the keyhole.

What I see causes my mechanical heart to sink.

I have intruded upon them at the height of the lovemaking.

The two are naked, their flesh reflecting the pale light of the full moon, which beams in through the room's sole window. Sweat stains Harvey's orange hair a coppery brown and plasters strands of it to his face; his cheeks now stained a ruddy pink. His face is a mask of pleasure, thin lips pulled up in a slight smile, while his eyes are shut as though he were asleep. Even from my place on the other side of the door, I can hear his heavy breathing.

Above Harvey is Andrew, buried deep inside him. He pumps himself in and out with deliberate slowness, each movement drawing small cried from Harvey's throat. Eventually, the man below him goes stiff, arching his back and shuddering from head to toe.

Still inside Harvey, Andrew leans forward and kisses the now-stilled Harvey between his bony shoulder blades.

I am spellbound by this bizarre display of human affection and intimacy, but at length, I can't bear to watch it any longer and must look away. All my suspicions have, alas, been confirmed. They are lovers. I have no chance at being with Harvey.

In a state of melancholy silence, I drag myself back to my room and return to my place at the window, solemnly looking out over the jagged city skyline at the stars above.

***

I have gone through many of the books in Andrew's library, and I believe I have found a way to power him down, a task I must perform temporarily if I ever want to sway Harvey into being my lover rather than Andrew's. I always assumed there must have been a way to wind-down a human; after all, Andrew stated to me once that he tried to make my body function as similarly to a human body as possible, and the threat of becoming unwound is so integral to my existence that there must be a human equivalent of the process. And I do believe that I have found it.

In humans they call this process `death', and it seems to occur when either the human heart ceases to beat or when the human brain entirely shuts down. The brain is incarcerated in bone, so my best bet is to stop his heart. Though in all of these books, there is no mention of reversing the process of death, I am sure I will find a way to reverse my actions. After all, you can wind an automation back up from his sleep, so the same must be said for humans. Once I stop Andrew's heart, I will prove to Harvey that I can be a better lover, even though I lack a mouth with which to kiss him and an organ with which to make love to him. After this, I shall wind Andrew back up and back to life, where I will then allow Harvey to choose between me and his former lover.

Yes. This is a flawless plan.

Every afternoon, I watch Andrew work at his workbench. He makes all sorts of lovely clockwork things, from toys that move on their own for the children who live up the street, to components that go to larger machines. I find his work to be absolutely mesmerizing, so I am going to miss him in the handful of days that he will be unwound.

I suddenly hear his footsteps as he tramps down the wooden cellar stairs. I hurry over to the stool I always sit upon when I watch him, careful to slip the large knife that will be my `unwinding tool' out of sight, silently wishing that the means to unwind a human were far less barbaric and more like the means to unwind an automation.

"Ah, there you are!" he says to me with a wide grin. "I went looking for you in your room but you were not there. Should have known you'd be down here already."

He walks over and playfully pats me on the top of my head. I feel momentarily guilty, but I quickly remind myself that this will only be temporary. Andrew will not be unwound forever.

Andrew opens one of the drawers in his desk and begins rifling through the mess of mechanical parts contained within. "Hm, what shall I build today?"

It takes me a moment to realize he is speaking to me. "Oh, ah, how about one of those miniature flying machines? You know, like the ones you gave to the children last week?"

I've always liked the toys and trinkets he creates more than the inventions with practical purposes. I hope that once I wind him back up and apologize for what I am about to do, he will forgive me and allow me to continue watching him as he works.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." He grabs a handful of components and deposits them upon the desk, the tiny pieces pinging like miniature bells upon the polished surface. He lowers his magnifying goggles to his face and slowly begins to examine the pieces one by one. Within moments he is entirely absorbed in his work.

I seize my chance.

 The knife goes in far easier than I expected. I plunge it in from behind, angled directly towards his heart. I curl my cold fingers over his lips to stifle his cries and to prevent him from causing an alarm. Then I lean in close to his ear and whisper softly, "I'm sorry. I swear this will only be temporary. I'll wind you back up again soon."

Andrew manages a muffled sob as I pull the knife free, and I feel a warm tear trickle onto my hand. Regret again shows its ugly face, but I do not release my hold on Andrew. I have come too far to have a change of heart now. No matter how much it pains me, I must have a chance at becoming Harvey's love, and this is the only way to do it.

Andrew suddenly sucks in a deep breath from his nostrils and then releases it in a long, drawn-out sigh. His body shudders strangely beneath me, and then goes still. I wait, listening for another intake of breath, but another fails to come. I have done it; I have unwound Andrew.

I gently allow for his limp body to slump forward onto the desk before I dash upstairs, eager to inform Harvey of what I have done. Andrew has been unwound! Now I can spend a special day with Harvey and perhaps even get him to fall in love with me!

After running around the house in a state of great excitement, I find him in Andrew's library. He's seated in one of the large wing-backed chairs dominating the center of the room while idly thumbing through the brittle, yellowed pages of an old book. When I appear at his side, he looks up and smiles at me from behind his reading glasses.

"Hello." His quiet voice sounds loud in the silent library. I love hearing it. "Shouldn't you be helping Andrew right now?" He raises an eyebrow, a look of worry sparkling in his eyes. "Is something the matter?"

"No," I shake my head, "nothing is the matter at all. I just really need to tell you something."

Harvey closes his book and sets it on the small round table beside him, giving me his full attention. "Alright then, little fellow. What do you need to tell me?"

"I am in love with you."

He snickers immediately, a rosy blush forming upon his freckled cheeks. I realize he finds my revelation to be amusing, and my mechanical heart clenches painfully in my chest.

"I'm quite flattered you feel that way about me," Harvey says, the ghost of a laugh still rippling through his words, "but I'm afraid I'm already taken. Andrew and I both assumed by now you would have realized we are lovers. I'm deeply sorry if we were mistaken."

"I know, don't think I didn't notice." Try as I might, I can not keep the bitterness from straining my tone. "And that is why I have unwound Andrew. Please, Harvey," I grab his arm and yank it towards me, urgently, "spend one day with me as you would with Andrew, just to see what it will be like to have me as a lover instead. I know I have no mouth to kiss you and no way to make love to you in the bed, but I swear I am just as good! And, no matter who you choose, I promise I will wind him back up again." With a shudder, I pull my arms away, letting them dangle pathetically at my sides. I look deeply into his eyes, hoping my glass lenses are able to portray the incredible depth of my emotions. "Please."

It is almost as though he hasn't heard my words. His gaze instead slides towards the pair of red handprints I have left upon his sleeves. Red? I do not recall having touched red paint. Yet, when I lift my palms to my face, they are indeed slicked with a mysterious red liquid. What is this?

"Unwound." Harvey speaks the words slowly, as if tasting it, savoring it as it flows out from his lips. A moment later he leaps from his chair, standing bolt upright, and then races off towards the cellar.

"Wait!" I cry, but he's already gone from the room.

I run after him; through the house, down the stairs, and back into Andrew's work cellar. When I reach the bottom of the stairwell, amidst the gloom of the cellar I can see Harvey collapsed upon the concrete floor with Andrew's head cradled in his lap. A round pool of the red liquid surrounds them, shimmering in the dim light. Clear beads of fluid run down Harvey's cheeks and his shoulders quiver uncontrollably.

Everything is wrong, so wrong. This isn't how my plan was supposed to go. Harvey is acting as though Andrew can never be wound-up again. Everyone can be wound-up again, can't they?

I slowly walk over and stand beside Harvey. "Why are you crying?" I ask tentatively, wanting to place a kind hand on his shoulder, but fearing his reaction. "I told you, I'll wind him back up again."

"No." Harvey runs his bony fingers through Andrew's hair, stiff with dried blotches of the red liquid. "No, that's not how humans work. Humans can't be wound or unwound like automations. We only live and die. That is all."

He waits for me to process this before speaking again. I stand there, thinking. Wound and unwound, living and dead. At length, I realize what I have done. I raise my red-stained hands to my face and fight the urge to scream. 

Andrew can never come back. I have destroyed him, along with any remote chance I had at winning Harvey's love. I can not cry, but at this moment, I wish I could. I have done a horrible thing.

With jerky, inarticulate motions, Harvey rises, his limbs shaking with grief. He turns his gaze to me then, his eyes filled with anger, sorrow, and, above all, pity. He takes a step towards me, and then another, and another. The red liquid has dried to a tacky coating that squelches under his shoes. Harvey leans towards me and reaches for the key jutting from my back.

I should not let him take it, and I feel a bolt of fear lace through my mechanical mind, but I let him take it anyway. I still love him as he loved Andrew, and if taking my key will make him happy, then fine. He may have my key. I have done an atrocious thing to the only person I have ever loved by robbing him of his own, and the least I can do to atone for my unforgivable mistake is to give him my key.

"I'm sorry," Harvey says to me, turning the metal key over in his hands. "I truly am, but murder is a crime. A heinous one, and what you have committed is murder, even if you did not realize it. You've murdered my lover as well as your creator. You do understand that I can't allow you to continue to exist while knowing that you have such a dangerous defect in your psyche?"

I nod, all while wishing I had tears to fight back; wishing that I could somehow show him how truly sorry I am. "I understand."

Upon hearing these words, he lifts the key high into the air and brings it down upon the hard surface of the desk. He raises it up and brings it down again, and again, and again. Each time the sound of its impact is like a gunshot, and each time the key becomes more and more warped, until at last it is all but unrecognizable as a key. He tosses it towards me and it skitters across the floor, coming to rest at my feet.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way. We should have taught you better." I expect to see hatred in his eyes, but instead I only see a sea of regret and sorrow. "I had my doubts about this automation project. And, alas, it seems I was correct." To my alarm, he kisses me on my forehead. "Good bye, little fellow."

He turns silently on his heel and ascends the cellar stairs.

I do not follow him. Instead I take a seat by Andrew's corpse, feeling the regret course through me like fluid. I crane my head over to stare at the bent key. It will never fit in my keyhole again. I too will soon me just like Andrew, cold and lifeless forever.

I feel that this is an adequate punishment for what I have done. No matter how sorry I am, I can not get Harvey to love me. Above all, I can not bring Andrew back. He can not be wound-up.

I lie down beside Andrew and close my eyes, waiting for the hour when I too will be unwound forever.