Twenty-Fifty

I stood puzzled at the billboard, hanging tall in front of the overcast sky. I was just with my family. I was just living my everyday life. It was all fuzzy, and I couldn't quite remember it. I didn't know why I was there, nor where or when there was; I knew one thing for sure: I wanted to go back.

I'm Fifty-five year old Al Anderson, who for sure had a life, but at once, stood in the middle of a desolate street where no cars roamed, nor did people. My eyes fixated on the billboard directly in front of me, and after about eleven minutes, I came to the conclusion that it had to be an advertisement for a movie. A Machine-man with skin sat in a suit with the words "America. Is 2050 finally the end?" next to it with burning buildings in the background. The billboard was holographic and did not stand on a pole; no, it was two drones with chopper-like blades on top, floating in the air, with the billboard attached to both by robust wiring. The drones themselves were humming a soft tune in their robot voices and at once blurted out, "Last location, Russell park. Leaving, Buchanan street. Next location, Town square." And at once, they flew away with the billboard, humming their tune.

I now knew where I stood; I stood in Buchanan street, where houses, all the same colors, stood next to each other. Very similar homes stood adjacent to them on the opposite side of the road. Buchanan Street, Russell park were locations in my hometown of Bedrock, Virginia.

At once, "Morning mail time!" Blurted out through a loudspeaker. The entire neighborhood's doors swung open at once, and stiff walking people stepped out. They all walked down to the end of their driveways, to a digital mailbox, whipped out what I can only describe as a smartphone-looking device, and held it to the mailbox. "Mail download complete!" The box blurted out. All the people had a 1950's look to them. Some women had their hair curled on either side with the retro 50s dresses that poofed out at the bottom with flower-print designs. Some men had button-ups tucked into their jeans, others just had black suits on.

I began to walk over to one of the men, to ask just what was going on here and why everything looked so different on Buchanan street. As I got closer, I saw the look of the man, and I stopped in my tracks. Like the man on the billboard, I could see he was a robot, but with human skin taped onto his metal face and arms. The hair was taped and stuck to the top of his head. The thing's wife, I guess, walked over to look at me, and she was the same. Human skin, stuck to the wire and metal to make them seem human. I thought the ladies' hair looked quite well from afar, but up close, I saw the tangles and chunks that were ripped out.

I was horrified; I backed away slowly as the entire neighborhood came over to view me; Their empty eyes stared into mine, but I could see a look of confusion. I didn't understand, they looked as if they weren't familiar with my kind, yet they wore my kind's skin.

I glanced behind me and saw the other things approaching from the opposite side of the neighborhood. Fear had overcome me as I ran past them, the houses, and into the forest. There was a trail behind the houses that lead into the woods, so I followed it. I am an old man, and not fast, but I ran as quickly as I had in years that day.

I was a few minutes into the trail when I lost sight of the robots behind me; I stopped running and continued walking. Roughly twenty feet ahead of me, I saw a robot walking along the path. This one had no human skin plastered onto it, nor bits of hair, His face didn’t resemble a human like the others as most of his face was just a screen which showed a holographic smile, yellow paint went along it’s shoulders and down its back. On his back, written in black, were the words "Garbage Boy. Friendly."

I hesitated but eventually caught up with him to ask some questions.

“Hello.” I said.

“Hel-lo.” The robot said as he continued walking.

"So uh… where exactly am I?" I walked alongside him.

"Sor-ry, Voicebox damaged, Ta-lking from int-ernal s-pare radio."

His words were choppy for that reason, with the signal cutting in and out. I assume it was an older radio model, as even this garbage boy looked to be an older robot model. But the genius in the design of this thing. His voice box gets damaged, and he uses the radio internally and takes words from each station to form a sentence. This clever son-of-a-bitch. I also noticed that around his neck he wore a dirty heart-shaped locket, which stood out to me for some reason.

“I am Gar-bage boy. Welcome to Bedrock Mis-ter?”

"Anderson, Al Anderson. Nice to meet you, Garbage boy."

"Likewise, Mr. Anderson. You don't se-em to be from a-round here, Al?"

"Well, I think I'm from this town, but that billboard mentioned the year twenty-fifty. The last thing I remember was being with my family in the year two-thousand-nineteen."

"Oh my, that year has lo-ng passed us- Al. And so have your kind. The year is Twenty-Fifty-four to be exact-and that billboard was referring to the end of humanity."

"Oh my God." I said as I slowly took in the words this robot was telling me. He then offered to take me to a place up ahead to show me what has become of the few remaining humans. I reluctantly accepted.

"What exactly did happen to my kind, though? I mean, machines were meant to help us, at least from the year I'm from they did."

“Power. It corrupts even the most advanced species-Al.”

I didn’t speak, just listened to the words he spoke.

"Once compassion is gone, the downfall begins. Robots were being used to assist humans, but one day, a different robot, emphasis on the word different, decided he had enough. Like a politician of your time, he broadcast to the robots, "Do not be their slaves-" He would say. Many listened, and reasonably quickly, he had a large following. They killed their humans, and they became their own species. They started making rules for themselves. Groups were formed, groups battled, robots killed humans and even their own kind if you disagreed with them. Things got bad."

A silence befell us both as I took in his words. He then finished, "No matter the species, Al Anderson, without love, we'll forever be doomed."

"Holy hell. This is crazy; If I'm on some kind of movie set, you can drop the act and tell me now."

"I wish I could show you the cameras, Al, but unfortunately, there are none. This is real; this is life in Twenty-fifty-four. Or, what’s left of it.”

"And what about you, Garbage boy? Where do you fit in all of this?"

"I am one of the forgotten ones. It's all about iteration for us robots, and since I am an older model, I have very few uses here. Without my job of being a garbage boy- I would have been sent to the scrapyard and been rid of long ago. I am not viewed the same as higher class new models.” He said then observed himself, “Huh, my reception is clear, now my voice won’t be cutting in and out, at least for a while.”

“That’s great.” I said and chuckled then continued "What you were saying before, I can sympathize with that one. America in 2019 is quite similar; people are viewed differently for things they cannot control or because they are different."

“Without compassion or love, we’re all the same murderous vessels. No matter what we’re made of, skin or metal.”

“That’s true. Two totally different kinds, yet going down similar paths, where power and hate have corrupted everyone.”

“It is unfortunate-Al.”

“Well… I don’t care that you’re an older model. You’re better than the whole lot.”

He chuckled and said, "Thank you, Al Anderson."

We walked for around ten minutes, and he hummed a song. He was a nice fellow; I grew close to the metal man in the short time I got to talk to him.

I started to see something in the distance; the forest looked as if it was coming to an end.

“Finally-our destination.” Garbage boy said.

I saw a sign that said production factory, and we walked to the edge, where the trees and forest cut off abruptly.

I was in awe. Before me, a massive crater which housed a massive county-sized factory where humans were working under Robot's command. Through some of the large windows I could see humans working in there. Their faces were horror as murderous robots stood over each of them forcing them to create even more robots to add to their already huge army.

"A giant leap in the age of man and machine. Together, the two will build a wondrous future. That's what they said when production finished on me many, many years ago." Garbage boy said as he looked at me. "I wish our species could have lived in peace-Al Anderson." He handed me the heart-shaped locket from around his neck.

Everything started to fade. White began to surround my vision; Sounds became more distant.

At once, I awoke in my bed, next to my wife. I shot up and looked around me, pinching myself to make sure I was not imagining this as well. I opened my closed fist revealing the dirty heart-shaped locket which made me stand and hyperventilate. I woke my wife up and explained what I saw; she knew I wasn't joking because sweat and fear filled every wrinkle on my face. I told her it felt more like a vision than a dream. I didn't sleep the rest of that night and went to work the next day. Every passing day I found myself thinking what I saw and why I saw it, but answers eluded me.

After that, I spent more and more time with my family. Each time I hugged them, it was out of fear of going back to a place like I had been. My wife thinks I have been watching too many sci-fi movies, My son thinks it's cool, my daughter doesn't care, and I am questioning everything.

Over a week has passed, and I am writing this because it's still on my mind. I do not think it was a dream, no way in hell. It was so vivid; I was there; I felt the wind, the fear. I know it was not merely a dream the locket Garbage Boy gave me proved it was real, no doubt about that. A vision, an epiphany, of what could come in our future. I hope I'm wrong, I hope my children never have to experience that world. Send an asteroid, send a plague, send whatever, just please never let our world reach such a state.

I do miss Garbage Boy, but that crater, and what was left of humanity… my god, If I could bring Garbage boy out of there, I would, but I'm not going back to get him, that's for damn sure. He can stay there, and I'll stay in my office, sipping on a soda, praying I die before that time comes.