Scribble: New dawn.

      Kneeling before the rushing waters, the diminutive figure remained motionless, a slender statue of metal set upon the grass. Round, unblinking eyes gazed deeply into the creek, eagerly following the slightest movement on the riverbed, their lenses clicking and whirring all the while.
      "Keeping an eye on the fish again, are we?" chuckled a gravely, but cheerful voice, as a hunched-over man sauntered over to the water's edge. Leaning on a cane fashioned from some old colossal wrench or another, he chuckled again, running a thick, calloused hand through his whiskers.
      "Invertebrates," came the childlike reply, before the smaller figure turned to its companion, hesitant to break its watch. "I believe you call them . . . 'crawdads'? Is that correct?"
      "Ah, a regular astacologist!" the old man chuckled again, patting the smooth round dome of his companion's head. "Yes, they've been slowly making a comeback in these waters," he continued, dark eyes scanning the waters from beneath heavy wrinkles. "Ever since the generators went up long ago, everything in this region's been coming back, slowly but surely..."
      The sound of flowing waters soon overtook the conversation, as the odd pair simply searched beneath the surface, the old man's hand slipping to his charge's tiny shoulder. A single dragonfly appeared from places unknown, hovering in front of the little observer briefly, before finding a perch on the opposite bank. As its round eyes followed the creature, the small machine caught a glimpse of the windmills in the distance, dwarfing even the tallest of trees. Beyond the massive, sweeping blades, a small airship could be seen drifting over the horizon.
      "Grandfather," chirped the metallic voice once more, as unblinking eyes turned to the ancient visage, "will I ever get to see the world as it was?"
      "Mayhap," came the reply, riding upon a sigh. "If we're all so lucky as that."
      Round eyes returned to the water, immediately catching a small crayfish, walking along the sandy floor. "I hope so," the little one whispered, watching the creature saunter to a hidden friend...

Scribble: Storm's passage.

      A single heartbeat, rising above the din.
      Outside, just beyond the salt-eaten fence, turbulent waters lulled, as the faint cry of gulls carried on the wind.
      A single heartbeat, rolling like thunder.
      Outside, far above drip-dripping rooftops, fearsome clouds parted, the last flicker of lightning long ago fading into sunlight.
      A single heartbeat, erupting, bursting into the air.
      The echo of digital bells, ringing beyond the cracked glass, rising through the holes in the ceiling above. A weary, shaking hand flips the chipped casing open, doubting its own sense of touch.
      "Please," cries a voice from the receiver, static choking each breath, "please, please tell me that you picked-up..."
      A single heartbeat, slowing, calming, quivering.
      "Just tell me..." came a shivering voice, unsure of its own sound, "...tell me that this isn't a dream..."
      Two voices, muddled by static, joined in grateful sobs.
      A single heartbeat, rising above the din, joined by another...

Scribble: Three years.

      A single candle burns. Life flickers in the breeze, while little gobs of wax trickle down pale cheeks, running along ridges of scar tissue.
      It's all a painting, sepia, faded, slight wear along the worn-away frame. No one knows the artist, though hushed rumors say he's long gone. Singature's hidden in the lines of the face, but not in any language we can read.
      Why this angle? Why this symbol? Why are we even here, staring at this damn painting for the third year in a row, when little insight has been gained? Did the artist know his message would be obscured?
      But there is no message. The artist was a madman, barely in control of his own impulses. Half these cuts on the canvas were his.
      No meaning but the one we assign . . . but what are we to make of this, then, when we want to just turn away and find some art that makes sense?
      Running along ridges of scar tissue, little gobs of wax trickle down cheeks, life flickering in the breeze.

RLW...

Scribble: This is what happens when I listen to Shatner; or, People will probably think me a furry for one word choice.

      Slowly, her eyes came to open, daylight slipping through cracks in the blinds. Birdsong blended with passing cars and voices, tickling her ears with the new life of the day. Yet, the warmth beneath the covers was too much, tempted by the lingering heaviness of her eyelids. She couldn't help but chortle at the conflict she now found herself in, a tired smile growing on her face.
      As she tilted her head to yawn, she winced in pain, noticing too late that her auburn locks were pinned beneath her lover's slumbering head. Trying to suppress a yelp for his sake, her slender fingers gently pulled the captive strands away, eyes drifting to his peaceful face.
      He was still smiling that same smile from the night before. Sleep never stole that from you, did she? she thought, as slender fingertips tenderly brushed against his cheek. Tempted to disturb such peacefulness with a kiss, she let out a gentle sigh, instead gently burrowing into his bare chest.
      "Maybe . . . five more minutes," she purred, nuzzling into his warmth, pulling the blanket closer.
      Soon, they were sharing the same smile.

Scribble: This would be more dramatic with set-up.

      Ornate metal fingers wrapped around the shaft, knuckles creaking as they tightened their grip. Trembling slightly, the brass and copper figure stood at the ready, its mechanical eyes blinking but once in their scan of the horizon. Brandishing the mighty hammer from the forge, the survivor stood as a great knight of old, lacking only the flesh beneath the armor.
      Perhaps I am all that is left, it thought, head bowing with its unseen burden, but so long as I exist, there will be others...
      In the distance, a great roar burst forth, parting the very mist and shaking the walls of the mountains. A single red orb of light shone through the sudden gap, as the clanking of poorly-fitted joints ripped through the air.
      It is time, thought the survivor, nodding its heavy, round head. Digging the treads of its feet into the ground, it quickly shifted powerful legs from a defensive stance, bounding high into the air.
      Just as rusted claws swiped madly through the fog, fierce mechanical eyes bore down on the beast, the hammer's head falling swiftly before its wielder...

Scribble: A future project, perhaps?

      Perched atop the tallest branch, the young explorer surveyed the landscape, her azure eyes looking to the mountainous horizon. An unexpected gust of wind tugged at her fiery red locks, as the sprite instinctively reached for the great trunk of her perch, the zephyr slowly fading away. Within moments, the air grew still again, allowing her attention to return to the world around her.
      "It isn't safe for you up there," rumbled a deep voice beside her, as the glint of sunlight reflected from a rusty, silver dome. Poorly hidden amidst the foliage stood an ancient machine, its open hand hovering just beneath the tallest branch, nervous eyes never straying from the young girl. "Why do you insist on doing such things?"
      Looking at the giant beside her, the sprite simply laughed, raising a single triumphant finger. "Because," she said in a cheerful voice, adjusting the goggles atop her brow, "you won't let me ride on your shoulder anymore, remember?"
      Her companion started to protest, before turning its massive head to the sky as quickly as its size would allow. As azure eyes followed the giant's lead, the silhouette of a great winged beast passed in the distance, strangely graceful for its bulk. A mischievous smile crept onto the explorer's face, as two pairs of eyes followed the flying creature to the highest peak in the distance.
      "My word," bellowed the giant, its mechanical eyes blinking in awe. "Is that what you've been looking for all this time?"
      "But of course!" she proclaimed, turning to wink at her companion. With another laugh, the explorer swooped her arms in an emphatic gesture, only to lose her footing on the branch. Without a moment's hesitation, she soon found a familiar quartet of fingers raised around her, the same metallic monoliths that had rescued her time and time again.
     "And this is why I won't let you ride on my shoulder anymore," came the matter-of-fact rumble, as eyes as large as her body glared from above.