One More Tomorrow

A Short Story

The sun crept up on the field’s hazy horizon, shedding a faint golden light that reflected off pools of blood. Down in the valley not yet touched by the sun, among the shadows of a great willow, slept a silent presence. As the sun crawled higher in the sky, the shadowy figure began to unstiffen. Red rust flaked off onto the ground as gears ground and metal scraped against metal. The lights in her eyes flickered on, awakened for another day of labor. Her clunky feet trudged out of the valley as she gazed on the vast slaughter below.

A few yards down at the base of the hill, a small boy with a face full of freckles and acne cried out in bloodcurdling agony. A dozen others lying near him had already met their mortality. Reaching down, her mechanical arms embraced one of the young, still-warm bodies and hauled him back to the shade of the willow tree, leaving a trail of fresh crimson splatter behind. Field to valley, back and forth she went, following the blood trail and adding to it.

She spun her head back to see a boy without a leg shaking his balled fists up at Heaven. Just beside him, a boy with no fists left to shake prayed to God for the mercy of death.

The day dragged on, flesh burning at the touch of her hot metal body as she carried away the corpses to their resting place. The late morning sun burned like hellfire, tormenting the damned souls that lay strewn across the battlefield. The air reeked of death’s cruel stench. Nearly half of the field had been cleared when the sun finally reached its peak, and she had the loosened screws and bloodstains to prove it.

Something tugged at the hem of her dirtied dress and she heard a faint voice call out from down below.

“Help me, please.”

The voice belonged to a pale-skinned boy, probably not old enough to taste liquor but certainly old enough to taste blood. Not yet a corpse, yet already rotting. His teary eyes met her electronic ones. Dirty shards from his blown out eyeglasses covered his face, and crusted mud was spattered on his uniform which smelled of sweat and motor oil. Her knees clanked as they folded down to reach his level.

“Thank you, ma’am. My name’s Atticus. What’s yours?” asked the boy. The breeze rustled and the blades of grass swayed, but everything else was still and silent. She shook her head.

“Oh. You can’t speak,” he muttered. “That’s alright. I hope it’s okay if I keep talking to pass the time.” His raspy voice cracked a bit, but he regained his breath. “Ya know, I joined the army ‘cause they’ll pay for my school. I’m studying to be a music teacher. You like music?”

She nodded and reached over to her chest, flipping a little metal switch right above where her heart would be. After she adjusted her dials, a soft blues melody floated from the speaker in her torso and filled the somber silence.

“My momma likes this song. I think it’s called ‘One More Tomorrow.’” The poor boy was fighting a losing battle against the inevitable, yet he still wore a smile. “I know my momma will be happy to hear from me, even though I’ll have to tell her I’m short a couple toes! I’m gonna try and write her a letter tomorrow,” he laughed, coughing up a handful of thick mucus and wiping it on his uniform pants. His face scrunched with pain as fresh blood from his side spilled onto the fingers clutching his stomach.

“I have a favor to ask. If you don’t mind, that is.” Atticus wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, but ended up smearing blood and dirt and snot across his cheek instead. “Don’t leave me here. Please.” His trembling fists clenched the hem of her dress, tugging, begging, as a look of sheer desperation consumed his dulling eyes. Breathing was becoming more and more of a struggle.

She reached out with her android hand to grab his free one and held onto it as tight as she could.

“Please give me a place where momma can visit and play me songs,” he whispered, holding her firm grasp for a while, a pained smile on his face.

With her spare hand, she turned up the dial on her chest and let the music drown out the sounds of his pained gasping.

“I’m sorry, momma,” he whispered in a last breath that escaped his pursed lips. She had never seen it up close before. The innocence, the wonder, so violently stolen from the naive eyes of a child soldier.

Her dilapidated mechanical fingers were still intertwined with those of the frail human, both equally lifeless. She finally let go to brush his eyelids closed. He was sleeping now.

Protocol said to take him to the pile. Another dead weight among the countless unnamed soldiers left to rot in the wretched heat, a foul-smelling inconvenience better left forgotten. Something would not let her. Perhaps it was a program malfunction or her frayed, falling-apart wires. Maybe it was a tinge of humanity, but she could not follow orders, not this time.

Indentured by her promise to Atticus, the hellish sun set to the sound of a shovel clanging against rocks and shrapnel. It rose again to the smell of fresh dirt. With every hole dug, gears scraped, sparks flew, screws loosened and fell to the ground. She just let them. Instead of carrying corpses, her arms held a bushel of wildflowers that she wove together into mourning wreaths for a makeshift vigil.

1,427 wreaths laid atop shallow graves. 1,427 families wondering when their son was coming home. 1,427 bodies lined the valley so a few men could line their pockets. Once ennobled by violence disguised as freedom, they were now considered worthless in death.

`After all, dead men could not fight for oil and land.

There were 1,427 shallow graves, but only one was marked.

Atticus. Beloved Son and Musician

These few words carved into a rock by inhuman hands were the only thing left to encapsulate an entire life that had been cut too short. She laid her final wreath at the foot of his grave. She let the music of her radio fill the quiet night, hoping it might bring Atticus peace somehow.

After a while, her rusted, dirt-encrusted limbs carried her back to her resting place under the lamenting branches of the weeping willow. The flickering lights in her eyes faded out as she powered down and collapsed into a pile of scraps. For every soul that slept in the valley, there was no more tomorrow.