A Story Fragment: Mental Calisthenics (Part One)

(Originally published on January 19, 2017)

A couple of years ago, I got into a thing where my brane just wanted me to write stuff. Anything. And I ended up with a couple of story fragments. These didn't end up going anywhere, and I have no idea what the story would eventually be (well, maybe an inkling - see Part Two).
Still, It was kind of fun to flex my narrative muscles.

* * * * *

        It was a couple of months ago now. A friend of mine had a small gallery showing in the Valley, and I wanted to go, but by the time I finally dragged my carcass out, it was pretty late. However, as I was out anyway, I thought I'd wander by the gallery space and see if it was still open.

        By the time I got there, the building was dark. It was in an upstairs area accessible via an external staircase in a narrow alley, and I'd been turned around a few times, wandering down a couple of wrong blind alleys and finding myself staring at blank concrete walls, sealed metal fire exits, or chain link fences.

        At first, I wasn't sure if this was the right place, but I could see a limp strand of string wound around to the wooden handrail from which dangled several deflated balloons, and a scattering of hand-printed flyers draped around it like flags... this was definitely the place.

        The alley itself was quiet. I couldn't have been more than five metres or so inside it, and the noise from the streets outside seemed far, far away. As it faded, I thought I could hear voices. Maybe there were a couple of stragglers... maybe there was a parking space out the back, and they were loading the sculptures and whatnot on board. Maybe I could at least see my friend and offer an apology in person for not getting there in time. But the further I got into the alley, the more it became apparent that there was nothing behind the building... and that the voices... louder now... were coming from inside.

        Glass shattered, and something was launched out of a window, landing in a puddle at my feet. The voices were louder now, and I could hear more... a series of loud thumps, angry voices, and heavy boots running my way.

        Without thinking, I picked up the object from out of an oily puddle near my feet and ran.

        Hours later, sitting at my desk, I pulled the thing out of my jacket pocket. It was roundish, about the size of an orange and wrapped in layers of old newspaper. There were three or four red rubber bands holding the whole thing together. After I'd undone them, the whole mess sat, nestled like some kind of weird Easter egg in a nest of torn, soggy paper on my desk.

        It was a heart; a metal heart.

        I'd seen my friend's work before. Weird chimerical skeletons of people and animals made out of found oddments and recovered garbage, but this wasn't his work. It was far too intricate. The pieces looked as though they'd been machined for just this purpose. It was lighter than it looked, and the various tubes and valves irised open and closed as I shifted it in my hands.

        Deep, deep inside, I began to feel a thrumming vibration, as though it was coming to life.

                                                                            * * * * *

I ended up writing a follow-up (of sorts), it connects to this one though is it part of the same story? Or a fragment of a different story which tangentially involves the characters and events of this one?
We may never know.
But It should be here tomorrow.