The apartment was small. Muted pictures of botanical gardens, faded moors, green inked poems, and heavy rain were taped across the walls. A rusted steampunk-looking robot made of pipes sat numbly at the edge of the island. A flick of washed out auburn streamed through the small window blinders and pasted, then a pure white, and then a bluish hue. The dented robot still stared at the ground with a mechanical gaze, small mechanics clicking and whirring. He seemed to be memorizing the cracked tiles and splats of paint. What else was there to do? Wait for her. His owner. A forbidding sense washed over him. She had given him a name, a name she'd whispered with a playful laugh, her voice a warm current whispering to an imaginary ear on his head, 'Siderokardia, you're so different.'

In the semi-darkness the pebbles looked like stale coffee beans, the rug looked like an unreadable scroll, and his owner was taking a long time.

Siderokardia started to drift into his memories, a hobby of his. She was laying on the floor, looking up at him and a bubbly laugh came from her throat. Gentle pats when the door opens, showing a weak smile or a relieved face. Uncontrollable movements, slow and fast while an unheard song came to her. Moments when songs came to her voice. Stretching out on the futon, looking up at him with tears on her face with arms stretched up for an embrace. Reading poems to him in the dimness of his light and resting his head on her arm, looking up at her involuntarily and being softly and slowly pushed back to the page with a chuckle. Candid moments through the eyes of a bulb. He wished he could smile like her instead of dumbly looking up. All she ever asked was for a little light from him and he couldn't wait for the chance to share it.

Hours passed and patiently he waited.

Rain came and the open window sprayed the sill. She would love that. Rain was near to her heart.

Two days passed and people, like crows, dressed in black came in from the raging rain. Two were sobbing and one looked like he ran out of tears. Some shuffled around and said hushed words to the huddled group and left. Blushing one gave a note to the man with no tears. He crumpled it up. Another gave a package and left hurriedly, with a hand on their mouth.

A bright light flickered in the bulb.

The crows started to talk more, their voices a low, uneasy murmur. Two more began to have a muffled cry. The man stared at the floor, his face etched with sorrow.

A brighter light flickered. The bulb hummed with a growing intensity.

The man looked at Siderokardia, not noticing soft tears running down his face from his glazed eyes, staining his black tie. He swung his head away to the floor and turned around.

Another brighter light flashed. The crows looked towards it, wondering. The nervous tension became intense.

Again it came, brighter still, the bulb radiating heat, the man's tears flowing freely now.

Tension built up through the bulb. The crows backed away, their black forms shrinking into the shadows, leaving the man alone, his eyes fixated on the whining, pulsating light.

The light suddenly erupted. The man continued to look at the robot, surrendering. Pebbles flew, creating a tornado of dust. The rug was ripped to shreds A bizarre suction began to pull at the crows’ skin. They were consumed in a fraction of a heartbeat by the light and the implosion reversed in the same beat. Walls buckled and cracks swiftly ran upward. Brick and mortar unraveled. The building groaned, then shuddered, breathing its last. Debris swept the road, like fog. Two cars crashed into each other. The rain, now a torrential downpour, washed over the ruins, leaving behind a gaping hole. Siderokardia's body was ripped apart, pieces of twisted metal scattered among the rubble.