Open — look around, any takers? No. Close.
Open — maybe now? No. Close.
Open — c’mon read my sign, read my sign! Any takers? No. Close.
Open — any takers, now? No. Close.
The battered robot lay slumped at the side of the space-dock — unheeded. The tiny gleam in its visual-function orbs fading. The harsh neon lights, hanging from the cavernous depot ceiling, winked on the body casing and twinkled on the sign hung around the hobo’s neck:
“Will process data for energy.”
Finally — the orbs whirred, and closed.
Avis Hickman-Gibb is a new writer, living in rural Suffolk, England. She gained a BSc. in Environmental Chemistry more years ago than she cares to admit and worked in the fledgling computer industry whilst still a babe-in-arms. She lives with her husband, son and two cats. She’s had stories published in Every Day Fiction and Shine! Magazines, and is currently working on a book of short stories. She is addicted to writing flash fiction.