Gepetto [STORY]

I believe it is not worth existing

in a world that understood what existence is.

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                ✦✧✦✧

                     So... it's been a while since I've

                     written a story... let's see how this

                     goes down, eh?

                     And no, this ain't inspired by either

                     Gepetto or D:BH.

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╭          Bit of a Warning          ╮

Heavy Themes

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Gepetto

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ıllı Stanislav Vovchuk ıllı

Artist

#StoriesByKyrie

⌒(= ´ ᆺ｀=)⌒

   What does it mean to be human?

   Is it the metaphysical constraint that can never be understood through mere words? Or is it the physicality? The construct of nerves, blood, tissue and all, given consciousness?

   What does it mean to be alive?

   Is it the state of being conscious? Of knowing that there is such a thing of knowing and not knowing? Or is it the state of being, well, alive? Have a beating heart, and one is alive— is that it?

   There are many views to this subject, yet many still obstructed, are unattainable.

   For example, a robot. Is it alive? If so, what makes them alive? If not, then would destroying a human-shaped android would be a no-brainer, correct? Wreck it, beat it, burn it even. After all, it is not alive, correct?

   Ah, the pains of knowledge. We get hurt from it, yet seek for it. Sought for it. One would think that it would be for the best to not classify everything. Otherwise, we would be asking if whether robots dream of electric sheep.

   Let humans meddle no longer the natural state of things.

⌒(= ´ ᆺ｀=)⌒

   Everything was a blur. His head— no, his entire body— ached from the pain that rocketed from out of nowhere. He tried to move, but his body would not listen to him. Listen? Ah, yes, he can still hear. From the rustling of curtains— there must be a window nearby— to the quiet breeze of the wind, he could hear them.

   But while he could listen to the whispering zephyr, he could not see a thing. His eyelids were as heavy as boulders and kept him in the dark. Likewise, his mouth, still, and it bereft him of communication.

   It was like death. This must be the sensation of rigour mortis. And though his mind was still intact, the same could not be said to his unresponsive body. He was trapped. Trapped. Trapped.

   The sound of rustling and creaking metal and wood, however, caught him off guard. A door. It was probably someone opening a door. Then came the footsteps, and it drew closer until it reached to a halt.

   “Father, are you awake?” Someone, most likely the one who came in, asked.

   After what felt like an eternity of silence, there was someone there. Someone called for him, or at the very least, he knew that it was for him. Perhaps, perhaps not, but... father? The voice called him father. Was he a parent, then? When did he have a child? Memories... ah, they were all in a blur. He could not recall, well, anything personal. Not a scant of his history remained. Not a name, not even his name, he could recall. Awful, true, but there was nothing he could do but pray he could .

   “Are you still asleep, then?” The voice asked once more. “I hope you can hear me... it's me, Pinocchio. Your son.”

   He felt a hand grabbed onto his own and clutched it dearly. There was tenderness in the touch as much as there was a longing in that voice. But there was something else that was writhing within the words he spoke. Was it fear? Was it guilt? Ah, melancholy? Nonetheless, it was... awful to hear. If only he could cry, he would, but right now he could not. Simple words were what he spoke, but still, it held a plethora of emotions that rages on.

   If only he could wrest control over his own body. If he could only force himself free from the strings of some invisible puppeteer, he would reach out for this child in pain, and give him the comfort that he deserved. Or maybe just his mouth... let him speak even for the briefest moment, and tell him that he was awake and listening to every word he said. To assure him that he was there, and tell him that it would be fine. Alas, he could not. Only in his thoughts could he say that he was all right, and nothing more.

   But as he was left with his private soliloquy, a different voice intervened.

   “Pinocchio, dear, your father is still unresponsive.” It was that of a woman's. “Please, kindly leave the room while I continue my utmost best to take care of poor Master Pontecorvo in his... position.”

   Master Pontecorvo? Was that him? Based on the conversation, it must be. However, who was that woman? Why did she call him master— is she some sort of family maid or something?

   “Yes, Freyja, I know that... but you know well that I couldn't sit still, knowing that my father is here, comatose, unresponsive like a... like—”

   “You need not finish that train of thought, young master,” the woman, now named Freyja, chided. “Although I suppose this certainly merits some worries, given that the doctor did all that he could... and that Master Pontecorvo was supposed to be awake three days ago. But with all things considered, it would be better to leave him to rest. Why he had not woken up might be because of many factors, but I know for certain that he would get up soon.”

   “I know, but I can't help but feel that I should do something.”

   “Well, why not surprise him?” Freyja suggested. “Rather than you moping around like that, why don't you give him a nice surprise as soon as he wakes up? You want your father to see you smiling and not pouting, yes?”

   He could not help but agree with that statement. But it would be better if his son would focus on something else other than him. He noticed how silence seemed to reign over the room that he could not see. Shortly after, he felt the hand that had grasped onto him earlier let him go.

   “Alright then,” Pinocchio grumbled. “But I'll be back tomorrow.”

   He heard his son leave the room, creaking wood and all. He surmised that Pinocchio conceded defeat and decided to leave wordlessly rather than to argue with Freyja.

   “He certainly has your temperament, Gepetto,” he heard Freyja say.

   Gepetto? Was that his given name, then? Gepetto Pontecorvo... it was a nice name if he says so himself, but it still did not jog any kind memory. It was still a blank slate.

   “That boy of yours is a handful... I wish you could wake up now if only to calm him.”

   Gepetto wanted to shout a reply, to call out to Freyja and tell her that he was awake, but he could not.

⌒(= ´ ᆺ｀=)⌒

   Gepetto had grown accustomed to the darkness that stayed with him for the duration he was conscious. However, this friendship was but fleeting, for as he opened up his eyes, a kaleidoscope of colours greeted him instead. Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the light, and all blurred shapes morphed into something that he could name— there was a bookshelf, a window, a stunned woman wearing a maid's dress whose jaw was left hanging open, some dusty old tchotchkes by the shelf...

   “You're awake!” The woman blurted out, pulling him away from his thoughts. “Master, you're finally awake!”

   Gepetto looked at her, confused, and it took him a few seconds to process what she had said. Of course, he was awake— that was what most people do after they sleep for some time.   Then, it dawned to him. It was not common for those who were in a deep sleep to simply wake up.

   However, right before he could say anything, Freyja sprang up from her chair and bolted out of the room. Rather than to catch up with her, Gepetto instead stayed in bed. His memories were still in a haze, and it would do no good if some amnesiac tried to wander around the house regardless of whether it was his, to begin with.

   Thunderous footsteps echoed through the hallway as it became louder and louder at each step. Then, the door flung open which revealed a young man whose eyes were a striking shade of blue. Despite how worn-looking the shirt was, and how tattered his pyjama bottom, Gepetto kept looking at the odd blue eyes. It was familiar, somehow, as if it was something from a distant memory.

   “Father?” His musings were cut short by him. Tears welled up around the young man's eyes, and his breath hitched every so often.

   Father... then that would mean that this was his son... the same one who he felt an array of distraught thoughts from the previous day.

   “Um, good morning... Pinocchio?” His first words right after his long and strange slumber.

   Rather than a reply, he was met with a tight embrace— one that was enough to almost cut his breathing and thus, fall into another deep sleep. Nonetheless, he returned the gesture.

   “Father, you're finally awake!” Pinocchio said through the waterfall of tears that were coming out from his eyes. “I thought that you wouldn't be able to wake up after... after what happened!”

   Gepetto removed himself from the youth and looked at him questioningly. “From what, uh, son?”

   “The operation, ? You had been injured, so a doctor had to operate on you.” Pinocchio replied.

   “I don't... I don't exactly recall...”

   “You can't, couldn't you?”

   “Well, it's more like I forgot all about it with a bit of amnesia or something, and—”

   “Amnesia!?” Pinocchio blurted out. Again, his words seemed to be full of emotions straight from his heart. This time, with Gepetto being able to see his son's face, it was evident with what he had felt. Fear. Pure, unadulterated fear.

   “F-Freyja, we need to— we have to—”

   Freyja walked towards the father-and-son pair and placed a hand over Pinocchio's shoulder. “Calm down, young master. I am certain that this lapse in the Master's memories could be remedied. After all, he had simply woken up from a long sleep. He is still most likely confused. Or overwhelmed. Disoriented, even.”

   “Uh, yes... what she said. Don't worry, it'll be back, I promise.”

   The grey-haired maid rolled her eyes. “Master Portecorvo, please do not act like you have the situation under control. You still need to rest. Come, young master, and let us leave your father for a while, so he could catch up a few more hours of sleep.”

   Whether it was from the shock of knowing about this gap in the memory, or if it was his exhaustion that finally gained upon him, Pinocchio let Freyja drag him away from his father's bedside, limp and tired. Gepetto looked at him, thoughts filled with the idea that he was the cause of such distress.

   But before he could even set a foot down to the floor, Freyja turned around and gave him a pointed look. “I would not do that if I were you,” she warned. Gepetto took her words into heart and slipped back into bed, to which she nodded. “Good, now rest up for a bit. I'll check back on you shortly.”

   As the door was shut close, Gepetto was again left to his thoughts. He recalled earlier when his son spoke of an operation... was he involved in an accident? Were there any casualties? What... what on earth had happened? It was then that a certain thought entered his mind— what does he look like? He took a once-over around his room and saw no mirrors... nor anything reflective enough to be a good substitute. However, what piqued his interest was that of another door.

   “It must be the door to the bathroom,” he concurred. Seeing that the rather terrifying maid has yet to come back, he took the opportunity to go inside and look for a mirror. The burning curiosity proved itself to be much more powerful than fear.

   Gepetto opened the door and looked for the light switch. As soon as he did, he flipped it open, finally illuminating the bathroom. It was nothing out of the ordinary— a bathtub, toilet, sink, but most importantly, a mirror. He stood in front of the mirror and was met by a rather handsome fellow. His overall looks were like Pinocchio's, if not a tad bit older. He wagered he could pose as the latter's older brother instead, and nobody would even bat an eye.

   However, what gave him the chills was when he saw his eyes. Blue. A beautiful shade of blue, like Pinocchio's own eyes. It looked hauntingly familiar, but for a different reason altogether, and not because it reminded him of his child. But try as he might, he could not put a finger on it. He decided that it would be for the best to wait it out. There was still hope, after all, that his memories would come back. Gepetto walked back to his bed and lied down, and just in time, too, as Freyja came back.

   “Good, you listened for once,” she said with a hint of sternness present in her tone. “Nonetheless, I am glad that you've returned to us... but that memory problem of yours was unexpected.” She walked across the room and went towards the seat she had before she left. Her face relaxed as she sighed. “I am glad you're finally awake, Master Pontecorvo.”

   Gepetto nodded. "Yeah, me too."

   “Well then, is there something you'd like to ask about? I mean, you did lose your memories, so I suppose it would be natural for you to be curious about something.” She sat up straight and looked at him with a calm, though hurt, countenance. “Go on, is there anything you'd want to know?”

   Gepetto nodded. “Well, I simply have a lot of questions, but first, I'd like to know... my full name?”

   “Gepetto Agustin Pontecorvo.”

   “Ah, okay then... um... how— how about Pinocchio? I mean, his mother, I—”

   “Madame Agata. Deceased.”

   Gepetto winced at that. As much as he liked how Freyja was very straightforward, she does not hold back her punches.

   “Right, and you... ah, how should I put this?”

   “I've been under your care since your marriage with Mistress Agata. My duties involve housekeeping, attending the once-young Master Pinocchio, and all other tasks I've yet to tell... but do go on.”

   Unable to follow up any other questions about this stern maid, Gepetto could only nod at that. “Next is, um... about... my profession?”

   “It may sound like I am a bit biased, yes, but I could say that you are a master craftsman... a genius inventor, of sorts.”

   “Inventor? Do I... invent things? What do I do?” He pressed on.

   Freyja opened her mouth to respond but shut it instead. “I suppose you could say that most of this kingdom's progress relied on your inventions.”

   “Kingdom?”

   He saw her look that screamed 'disappointed, but not surprised' that he had been getting familiar with. It still made him feel guilty, nonetheless.

   “The Kingdom of Yllveara,” she began, “known as the Clockwork Capital, and is the only one in the world that possesses such advanced technology that one might think would be... unnatural, so to speak.” She stood up and gazed outside the window. Pride was etched on her soft smile and solemn gaze. “And, what kind of technology, you might ask...”

   “Uh, yes?” Gepetto's eyes widened as his curiosity raged.

   Freyja gave him a small smile before turning around to face her master. “You will soon find out. For now, rest some more.” She bowed and made her way to the door. “I will not have you and your fawn-like control over your body roaming around the halls.”

   “But I'm fine,” Gepetto countered. “I mean, I got up and went to the bathroom to— ah...”

   “Indeed, Master Gepetto.”

   Well, she got him there.

   “I'll just... stay in bed, then.”

   “A wise decision.” Freyja closed the door, leaving Gepetto to alone once more.

   Outside the room was Pinocchio, casually leaning against the opposite wall. “Did… did he notice something different?” He asked.

   “He suspected nothing, Master Pinocchio. Although, are you certain that everything would be the same?”

   Pinocchio scoffed. “Of course. Why wouldn't be? Father is still there, and I believe his memory loss might be… a blessing in disguise. The Kingdom— they've been pushing him to the limit! I… I had to do something.”

   The maid placed her hand on his shoulder. “I know it's hard, but I must say that your actions may bring forth problems. For both yourself and Master Pontecorvo.”

   “I know… I know…”

ıllı Sebastien Hue ıllı

⌒(= ´ ᆺ｀=)⌒

   There were many things Gepetto ed as much as he had forgotten. Some of which were of the mechanical marvels around him. Clockwork automatons of various kinds. His first encounter was of a robot that flew past his window, armed with gardening shears and a watering can. Then from the outside his room, he saw several disc-shaped robots that vacuum the floor as they go. And as he ed by a window that gave him a view of the backyard, he saw a pair of automatons doing laundry. One was washing the clothes, and the other was hanging them up at the clothesline for them to dry.

   “And these were all built— invented— by me?” Gepetto asked Freyja who served him his 'nutritive pill'… a health scam his previous self had probably believed in.

   “Most of them, yes. As I've mentioned before, you were a genius inventor of the Yllveara Kingdom. You still are, actually, but given your current circumstances, well... it might be a bit too hard to determine now,” Freyja replied.

   Gepetto nodded in understanding and looked down on his so-called breakfast. “Shouldn't I be getting something... more than this?”

   “This is what you can eat for now, based on the doctor's notes.”

   He could not help but pout at the poor imitation of a 'full meal' in front of him. Nonetheless, he took the pill and mercilessly drowned it with water, but even then water seemed to have this odd aftertaste. Like oil or something.

   “I'll… explore for a bit,” Gepetto said as he got up from the chair. “I think it may help bring back some memories after, well, a bit of exploring...”

   “That should be fine so long as you don't feed the cleaning robot with a handful of dirt again.”

   “Again?” He looked at her, puzzled from her words.

   “Yes, especially to one of the dust-eating automaton that you've once affectionately given the name Oliver. It quickly fills up the bag inside it, so please don't try to feed it this time around.”

   “I understand.” Gepetto walked out of the dining area and walked aimlessly around the halls of his supposed house, lost in thought. However, his mind was filled with curiosity. Who was he? What kind of crazy inventions that he had done before the events when he was conscious in his mind? And finally, where was Pinocchio? He paused right at the large window that gave him the perfect view of the outside. While he gazed at the world that he had mostly forgotten about, it was… odd, to say the least.

   That is to say, he felt no deep-rooted connection to the world outside. Detached, even. Pinocchio's words had been enough to evoke a parental force within him even during his conscious deep sleep. However, the same could not be said to the world beyond the manor door. Rather than that, Gepetto felt apprehensive. A sickening twist in his gut, which told him to stay away. Run. Danger!

   But whether it was curiosity or, because he wanted to, he paid no heed to the voice that was stopping him. Instead, he went towards the foyer wherein he was once more greeted by several disc-shaped vacuuming automatons. As he made himself known, they beeped furiously and flock around him like that of sheep to a shepherd. This time, however, his sole focus was on the front door. He walked towards the front door, trying his best to avoid the off chance that he might step on one of them.

   As soon as he reached the door he saw from out from the corner of his eyes a stray, odd-coloured cleaning robot. It was ramming its head (do they even have a head?) at a wall repeatedly. He shrugged it off as faulty wiring and such, but every time it hits the wall, there was a distinct, hollow sound.

   Curiosity overwhelmed him again, and Gepetto weighed in two options that were on his mind: go outside, or free the poor automaton from its vicious cycle of head butting a wall. A mental image of Freyja scolding him from wandering too far helped him in making that decision.

   “Maybe I'll go and check the cleaning automaton instead... but maybe I could still go out if I finish this quickly,” he muttered beneath his breath. With long strides, he reached this peculiar cleaning automaton. Other than the colour, it looked like the rest of its robotic brethren. Nothing special, whatsoever.

   “Hello, little guy,” Gepetto spoke to the round cleaning machine as if it were a pet. “What are you up to, huh?”

   The automaton did not respond to him, as expected, and kept repeating its actions.

   Gepetto sighed as he lifted the small robot and made it face the other side. But as soon as he set it down, this disc-shaped robot spun around and resumed its previous actions. Again and again, it rammed itself against the wall.

   “What a curious little robot, aren't you?” Gepetto caressed the tiny robot. “Why are you doing this?” He asked, expecting an answer.

   What he did not expect, however, was that a section of the wall moved backwards. It startled Gepetto that he fell backwards. “What... what happened?” He looked back to the wall and noticed that it was moving every time the cleaning robot bumps into it. Gepetto also noticed that there was a clean cut on the wallpaper, resembling that of what could have been a door.

   He placed his hand over the wall and gave it a forceful push. It moved, though barely. The wooden floor let out an awful shriek as Gepetto pushed this new-found entrance forward.

   “What is this room?” Gepetto muttered to himself as his eyes adjust to his dark surroundings, following after the vacuuming robot that seemed overjoyed in cleaning up the dust that blanketed the floor like a second layer of the carpet. The light from the hallway barely illuminated this hidden, dusty room. “Right, there must be a switch somewhere… aha!” He flipped the switch open and was unprepared at what he saw.

   The walls were covered with a plethora of blueprints and handwritten notes, while the shelves and floor were somewhat filled with a bunch of mechanical junk of thingamabobs. Amazement soon turned to dread as he noticed that several of the robot parts were… shaped to resemble human body parts. “Truly odd,” he noted as he continued to snoop around the room unsupervised.

   It was then that he noticed a large, bronze mechanical chamber at the far end of the room. It was huge, with wires coming out from it. Furthermore, it has a door with a glass on it, though said glass attachment was dirtied and blurred, probably due to time. Still, as much as he had a thousand questions about this mechanical wonder, he was overcome with a sense of familiarity.

   “I've seen this before.” He continued to inspect the strange machine before his eyes fell unto an open notebook by the table beside it. Without a second thought, he peered over and began reading its.

   Colour drained from his face as he continued reading its contents. With each page, the fascination continued. The topics were wildly different, yet somehow there overlap with each other. He did not know whether to feel excited or afraid, but whoever he was before… he had dabbled with the natural order of life.

   Gepetto then heard a light shuffling from his behind, but as he turned around, he was struck on the head with something heavy. Now on his knees, he vied to stay awake, but once again his consciousness was fading. The last thing that he saw... was something beautiful. Something beautifully blue.

⌒(= ´ ᆺ｀=)⌒

   Pinocchio stood before his father, who was once more unconscious as before. He let go of the wrench and dropped onto his knees, inspecting the damage that he had done, only to hear the frantic footsteps of Freyja.

   “Master, what— oh, dear,” she covered her mouth in surprise. “So it seems that Master Pontecorvo found the room again.”

   Pinocchio nodded. “Yeah… and this time, he was so close to finding out the truth.” He looked at the open notebook with defeat. “He shouldn't know this yet… not yet.”

   “Young Master Pinocchio, we should—”

   “Yeah, begin fixing him again.” He winced at the damage that he had done to his father. “It's not too much this time… a few scrapes on the head... oh, and somehow I exposed some wires. Nothing big. I dented the head, yes, but I am pretty sure we have some spare parts around here... what?” He raised a brow when he saw Freyja looking at him grimly.

   “Young Master… if this continues, you would not have any spare parts in case you need it yourself.”

   “It's not a big deal, I mean…”  Freyja grabbed his left arm, grabbed the sleeve and pulled it up, revealing a series of wires and whirring gears. “As I suspected.”

   Pinocchio pulled away from Freyja's grip. “I don't care if my body gets damaged… as long as my father is okay, I am as well.”

   Silence reigned within the room save for the beeping noise the vacuuming robot makes every once in a while. Freyja broke the silence with a deep sigh. “I'll call your father's assistant. Hopefully, he would throw in a few extra parts so that you could fix yourself in the process.” Her eyes were still staring at Pinocchio's exposed arm.

   “Thank you,” Pinocchio replied. Freyja soon left the room, leaving Pinocchio with the broken form of Gepetto.

   Without anyone to bother him, he pulled his father up and cradled him into his arms. “Don't worry, father… you'll soon be up and ready, and it will be all right…”

ıllı Sunsetagain ıllı

⌒(= ´ ᆺ｀=)⌒

ıllı Milan Vasek ıllı

BG Artist