Steel gazes graze the fine lines of iron.
“Tin man, whom does your heart beat for?”
A man asks - voice roaming, ringing bells and bashing gongs.
For a moment all is still.
The shrill clanging of metal stops, the heavy puffs of air suspend.
The tin man looks at him and smiles.
“For myself good sir.”
The answer given adequate time, silence and negative space - the man responds.
“Yourself? Sanity and livelihood or selfishness and arrogance?”
The tin man stood quiet once again.
He had laboured for those who did not labour for him,
Given oil, rust and dirt for those who only lived to use and to hurt.
Why would he beat to give when those who would get spoke only to take?
“I once beat for others. I once donned flesh and matter, but it left me as a shell of myself - a diminished core and deafening chest.”
“I encountered a being of whimsical strength, who woke me up and took my shell to then place a pearl within me.”
“I now beat for myself as gratitude to him who lifted me up when all I could do was lay down.”
The man grabbed him round the neck, nails marking and whispered.
“Dear child, you’ve gotten it the wrong way round.”
“Your pearl was given to be taken away, to return you into the shell of the past."
And the tin man took those words, looked away and continued,
Walking off with the girl and her dog.
Away from the wizard, entrapping himself.
