A Clockwork Gnome
The first time it occurred to Charlie Fogg that the universe wasn’t a simple place, he was staring down a lawn gnome that had just challenged him to a duel.
“Fight me, heathen,” it growled, brandishing a small trowel at him. Its rosy pink cheeks glinted in the sunlight that filled the minuscule garden.
It really was odd, life. Charlie took a moment to formulate a response. “Okay.”
“You can’t!” a voice squealed from behind him. It was Lulu O’ Malley, his one and only friend.
“But I really want to show him who’s boss,” Charlie responded.
“Charlie….” Lulu had that tone. The one that told him he was making a mistake. Oh, if only he could ignore that tone.
“No, I don’t think I’ll fight you,” grumbled Charlie. If he broke one of Mrs. Glendower’s porcelain gnomes she would be furious. He had already broken two plates and a small cuckoo clock earlier in the week. Any more damage would result in him being sent to solitary confinement — two days last month had been plenty enough for him, thank you very much.
“Charlie, come with me; stop staring at it,” said Lulu.
He didn’t turn around, of course. If he broke eye contact with the small bearded man with the corncob pipe sticking precariously out from between his crooked teeth, he knew the creature would attack.
“I really shouldn’t stop, Lulu, I at least need to win this staring contest,” Charlie responded. “Plus, if I leave, I’ll end up with a trowel sticking out of my back, and if that happens the Matron Saint of Corporal Punishments will never let me see the light of day again.”
“Oh I think Mrs. Glendower would let you see the light of day,” Lulu said quickly. “She wouldn’t want to spend all of her time cooped up inside with you. Letting you go outside is the only time she gets to spend watching her stories.”
“You’re probably right,” said Charlie. He still didn’t turn away. In truth, he simply didn’t want the small man getting the better of him. To be shown up by a walking, talking, outdoor doll? No thank you.
“Prepare to meet your end!” cried the small man. It clicked and whirred and clinked forward, taking tiny steps toward its target.
Charlie reeled back, then paused. He weighed his options and then made a decision. The fallout wouldn’t be pretty, but he had to do it: he lifted a foot, pulled back, then kicked it forward. The small gnome flew through the air just like a soccer ball — well, except for the tiny scream it let out. Most soccer balls didn’t let out shrill cries to pure terror as they flew through the air.
It smacked into the far stone wall of the garden and shattered into a thousand pieces. Shards of porcelain along with little dials, springs, and bits of clockwork gears went in all different directions.
“Charlie,” Lulu muttered, her voice dark.
“Look, I had to, he would have attacked me!” Charlie barked. It came out harsher than he meant it, but he stood by his words.
Lulu didn’t say anything. Instead, she placed her hands on his shoulders and steered him in the opposite direction of the fallen gnome. The wooden door to the outside world was set right in the center of the stone wall that ran the perimeter of the property.
“Do you think they feel pain?” she asked as they reached the door.
“They don’t,” Charlie assured her. “I took one apart last week. “They have no pain index. Or feelings index. Really, they’re just programmed to be as angry as possible. But even those feelings aren’t real.”
“I suppose that’s all right then. But you did make a mess.”
“She can put them back together easy enough. She has before.”
He flashed back to his science project earlier in the week. The Matron had done a good job of rebuilding the little beast he had ripped apart.
“But they just don’t look as pretty once their pieces are glued back together.”
Charlie shrugged. “They probably like the battle scars.”
