The Heart of the Tin Man
His anguish was uncertain. He felt a diffuse pain, no precise origin, no precise spot. His heart sped up and he needed to do an extra effort to manipulate the remote control. In the ring a ferocious fight took place. Robots of all kinds and shapes made use of all tricks and weapons that the imagination of their creators, boys like him, brought to reality. His robot was having a hard time, cornered by a big, fat and noisy engine. Around the ring dozens of eyes observed the battle. But the eyes whose presence was most deeply felt were not there. Those distant eyes not only observed, but judged, and the constant red of them promised the worst punishments to failure. Not that they really cared at all. Being part of a big, fat and noisy carcass that spent the days sat on an old sofa holding a beer, they rant: “Why did you sell your bike? To buy a ticket to some sort of party? Why wasting money on these stupid robotics mags? All this money wasted in lan houses! Robot´s competition, ah, with this tin can of yours? You´re gonna lose, tin boy!”. The word money was quoted a lot, although the carcass never had any, converting all the money that came to him into beers, that kept his eyes always red. Sometimes the boy´s heart felt pity of that attachment to decadence. Other times if felt rage, when perceived itself dragged to that decadence. These remembrances crossed the boy´s mind creating a gap in time. The fight ahead of him looked frozen. His heart felt frozen. But it beat, it beat strongly. It was with red eyes that he looked at the big, fat, noisy engine that threatened his robot. With a quick move on the remote control, he dodged it. His pain went away. Then he knew its spot and origin. His blazing heart now imposed its rhythm to life, confident. The battle went on.