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Part 2:

“Larisse, it is time to wake up. Larisse, it is time to wake up. Larisse it is time to wake up. “

The tiny robot jumps up and down, a miniature retro-styled square headed robot with windows for eyes and metal blocks for hands. Shaking the currently dead, slim body of Larisse, it searches for a way to wake its master up.

With its tiny little arms, it squawks as it tries, with all its tiny munchkin might, to drag the covers off Larisse. “Larisse, it’s 8:30!! Time to exercise! Time to exercise!”


With a swift thump from Larisse, the master that it is so loyal to, the robot is sent flying in the air. “You have to get up you know? You have that oh-so-little role in “A Path of Clocks,” remember?”

It lands (luckily) on the sofa (once, it landed and got its head stuck on the bookshelf, which took about an hour to untangle from).

“Shut up Terrance!”

Larisse was still under the covers, and it was 8:31. This was not good. Terrance the robot got up on its wobbly toes, cursing his inventor.

“Why did you even give me this puny body. If I was bigger, Larisse would listen to me. Hm!”

In exasperation, he looks around the room. Everything, perfectly tidy and orderly. Wooden floors, the newly painted black ceiling and neon lights giving a very modern-retro look to the otherwise light room. All the furniture was a bright red, spotless and bacteria-free. A little BB terminator (Bugs&Bacteria Terminator, as it said in the promotion screen) sent a thin, barely visible layer of PH, in which would kill any bacterias or bugs in the room within seconds of it entering the small apartment.

Otherwise, the only thing left was the small sink, freezer, and (god-forbid) a microwave. Terrance didn’t even know that any of those existed anymore after the apocalypse, but perhaps it had been scavenged and donated to the collection of second hand furniture this shabby apartment had.

The sounds of high-speed  hovercrafts beating against wind travelled through the barely existent walls. Terrrance always wondered how the hovercrafts managed to travel through the air, little glass elevators floating one behind the other in the city hovercraft system, without even hitting a passerby or a building.

Which gave him an idea.

Recording a few twenty seconds of the hovercraft right outside the window, Terrance used his built-in voice manipulator, one of his best selling features.

“Beet, beet, beet, beet, beet, beet, CRASH! Shing, shing!”


“Shing! Shing~ Shing!” The sound of broken glass splattering eveyrwhere ffinally got Larisse out of the bed out and back agajinst the wall.

“Gosh, if only she did that the first time I try to wake her up,” Terrance muttered, giving him a little self-congratulary pat in the back.

“What.” Larisse was shooting daggers, her unmade up face strangely possessed-looking as she slowly walked towards Terrance.

“Was.” Uh-oh. Master’s not happy. Time…to go. Terrance lodged himself in the crack between the bookshelf and the wall, hoping that she wouldn’t reach in and grab him.

“That?” She yanked him out of the little crack, squeezing his tiny little body in one hand.

Terrance had never, in his whole entire life, endured this when he was in his little plastic box, which he desperately wanted to go back to now. Curling up in a little ball, Terrance wailed, “I’m too young to die!!! I’m sorry!! I’m sorry!”

“You know, I could swap you with one of the other nanobite creatures that look prettier, are more polite, and most importantly, don’t almost give their masters heart attacks,” Larisse mused, examining her cowering little Terrance. She definitely needed an upgrade, now that she was a full-blown big screen actress.

Certainly, she had dreamt that being an actress would bring a completely glamorous lifestyle of nanobite creatures serving to her every need, the new technology that was presented to her in the film studio, and all the designer clothes and makeup she wanted.

“But I love you anyways.” Larisse set the little guy down, her heart softening as he unrolled himself, threw himself on the ground, and started praying. The little apartment was still a stepping stone, just like little Terrance, a stepping stone to her luxurious life after this movie. No wonder, this will mean a game-changer to her, as her agent had mentioned.

“No one knows your potential Larisse,” she said to her bleary-eyed reflection. “But they will, with your perfect hair, your perfect teeth, your perfect everything.”

“You have a 14.0 on the DNA scale. That’s perfect. You are perfect. And the world will see this one day and bow down to you,” she shouted as she ran at neck-break speed on her little leg exerciser.

“And then you’ll be famous, and you won’t have to deal with annoying film studio tour guides and this shabby apartment,” she whispered as she put on her nicest looking outfit.

Terrance, in the meantime, observed this bizzarre human behavior from his ltitle plastic box. “What strange being she is,” he said, concluding that humans are all very dysfunctional and completely and utterly confusing.


“Hello Larisse! Glad to see you, ohmygosh, I love your dress where did you get it?” The same, annoying, mismatched eyes girl blurted out excitedly the moment she stepped into the tall “Star Productions” building.

“Hello to you too,” she smiled, a tight smirk that didn’t quite show all of her  teeth but didn’t quite cove the whole mouth. The smirk that was not too mean to be considered extremely cocky and arrogant, but wasn’t innocent either. It was from another of Larisse’s films, the one where she had to play a perfectionistic mean girl

She knew that she was being a bit mean to the girl, but she had a feeling that the girl was up to no good. Such fake smiles can only hide dark secrets she settled, lifting her shoulders back and strutting past the girl, who was wearing a black sequin dress a size too small.


The girl didn’t entirely know what was up with Larisse. Was she just nervous? Or was she just this mean? Either way, she was not going to last very long, and this time, the girl was glad about that fact too.


“Hello Timber.”

Her voice startles me, a little jolt to the hitmail I was working on. Cold hands feel the back of my neck, a little shock against the room-temperature air.

“Are you alright?”

Making a few slight movements in the air, the nanobites saved the hitmail draft and merged back in the table.

The room spun around, identical and white, and stopped, landing on Larisse as he did a 180 spin on th chair.

A long, feathered red dress covers her from chest to floor, blood on ice. She is blood on ice. Beautiful….But dark. Her lips are painted the same red, a pop of color against her otherwise plain face. But still, she…….Slender arms lead to carefully adorned hands, which were just the perfect size to fit his inside-


“Yeah, I’m fine. There’s just a lot to do in the next month.”


“Okay, let’s head over to hair and makeup.”


There was still time, but fate has already stamped her painted red.


“What do you think the sky would be if it was not blue?”

Angeli flipped over, looking at me with the curiosity of a child. Her hair was a mess now,  but still, her sun-kissed face glowed in the dim light. She told of many stories, she does. One of an innocence that dared not to be compromised by the luxuries and demands of stardom, of a little child determined not to grow up.

“I don’t know.”

The room is a dark orange now. There are no windows here, only the hints of artificial change in days and nights.

“No, tell me seriously. I really want to know.”

She flips over to her side, and all I can see is her chest, up and down up and down in the drowning bed.

She’s a silhouette in all the orange.

“Maybe, the next time I go out of this room, out of this hospital, the sky will be a different color,” she whispered, soft words against silence.

“Yeah, maybe.”

She rolls over to the side, sleeping away dreams of nothing.


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