Honest Opinion?

[fuzzypurpledragon]

It's just the start of a, well, I guess you could call it a "steam-punk sci-fi", that popped into my head this morning....just please, don't just flame it, give constructive critics.

"No! We're not staying here any longer!" I shouted at the shadowy figures. My parents, looming over me, plasma whips in hand. I hugged baby Marisol to my chest, "You don't love us! I'm leaving, and I'm taking my sister with me!" Time began to blur, and suddenly, we were on the streets of London, all alone. Marisol began to cry. I soothed her as best I could, and looked hopefully up at the faces of the passersby. But nobody looked at us, indeed many crossed to the other side of the street just to avoid us. I stared down into the empty tin can before me, knowing that, without getting milk,and soon, my poor baby sister was going to die. She cried and cried, louder and louder. The images began to blur, and the sound became distorted into someone else crying. Me.


I woke with a start, tears clinging to my eyelashes, staining my cheeks. I hated the memories. Ten years had passed, and still, they haunted me. Gazing around in the darkness, broken only by the faint glow of street lamps and the occasional passing car or patrolbot outside, I began to take account of my surroundings, trying to smother the sorrow in my heart. There was the old clock we'd salvaged on the wall. There was my collection of worn out books, and an assortment of dolls and stuffed animals underneath them. There was Marisol, still alive and well in the next bed, her sleep peaceful. In her arms was a ragged stuffed bear. I smiled, sorrow gone, rolled over, and tried to fall back into slumber, though I knew it was fruitless. After laying awake for a time, during which I listened to the seconds tick away, I hauled myself to my feet, threw on a robe, and with a final lingering gaze cast at my baby sister, left the room.
Stepping into the welcome light of the kitchen, I found our guardian awake, as expected. He was doing something or other on his holo-screen, a cold cup of coffee sitting forgotten beside it. For a moment, I just stood in the doorway, listening the comforting whir of gears coming from his mechanical arm. I'd always been curious of the mech-limb, attached as it was to his left shoulder. It was an antique looking piece of hardware, all of the joints and springs showing. It looked brassed with age, the sockets of shoulder and wrist worn shiny with use, and the gears that formed the elbow and finger joints whirred and clicked as he moved it about, like they were going to break any minute. But in all the ten years we'd been in his care, I'd never seen it happen.
Finally, he noticed me staring, "Eye problem, Camille?" "Hm? Oh, no. Just can't sleep. I figured I'd come keep you company." He arched an eyebrow over tired gray eyes, "Again?" I nodded. The nightmares had become more frequent lately as Marisol was becoming very ill. Awkward, I moved over to the plain, bare wood table. My own artificial knee groaned in protest as I lowered myself into a chair.

[artichowl]

I didn't read the whole thing but from what I read time passed by much to fast. I liked your vocabulary and it's a good story idea. Good luck.