Chapter 8: Chaos is a myth...
- Mouse Cat
- Apr 1
- 2 min read
Matthew 6: 1-4
“Take heed that you do not do your charitable deeds before men, to be seen by them. Otherwise you have no reward from your Father in heaven. Therefore, when you do a charitable deed, do not sound a trumpet before you as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may have glory from men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. But when you do a charitable deed, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, that your charitable deed may be in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will Himself reward you openly.”
The alley’s dim, perpetual night pressing in. Moose crouches, takes off his hat, green eyes narrowed under the star filled sky. The bot is slumped against it—sleek black chassis scuffed, long coat torn at the sleeves. Her eyes are closed, chest plate still, no hum, no glow. He reaches out slow, fingers brushing the neck seam. No sparks. Just cool metal.
“Easy now,” he mutters—more to himself than her. Thumb finds the switch. Click. Nothing. Moose exhales through his nose, sits back on his heels. The scattered boxes around them smell like oil and rain. Somewhere down the corridor, a distant door hisses shut. He glances at her face—smooth, almost human, but the wear shows: tiny cracks in the plating, one optic lens spiderwebbed.
“Figure you’re not trash,” he says quietly. Moose slides his backpack off his shoulder and opens it with a quick pull of a zipper. With a steady, calm hand he pulls out a small pouch of tools. Moose wrinkles his nose and leans in, taking a screwdriver to work on the bot’s panels. “If you’ve got enough emergency charge to get you back to the ship…”
Moose tilts his head. His mouth hangs slightly open. He holds his breath and pokes, prods gently. Suddenly sparks pop, sputter and fly, showering down upon the dirty pavement. “Thank You, Jesus, that’s what I’m talking about,” he murmurs. Moose closes the panel on the bot’s neck, slides his hand into place, and tries the bot’s power switch again.
Proverbs 10: 1-5
“The proverbs of Solomon: A wise son makes a glad father, but a foolish son is the grief of his mother. Treasures of wickedness profit nothing, but righteousness delivers from death. The LORD will not allow the righteous soul to famish, but He casts away the desire of the wicked. He who has a slack hand becomes poor, but the hand of the diligent makes rich. He who gathers in summer is a wise son; He who sleeps in harvest is a son who causes shame.”
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