The cat followed the metallic scent, her children following behind her. As the sun began to set, the scent grew stronger and as did the sound of birds. She followed the birdsong, her ears swivelling to pinpoint the location of her prey.

It was on the ground and it was chirping.

The cat slowed, her eyes catching sight of movement beside a tree. She crouched down, watching as the bird hopped in and out of view, obscuring itself behind a tree. A glint shined off a strange object nestled in the tree roots. It was irregular and a dirty white, speckled in green. Sparks flew off the object.

The cat lowered her ears and slinked away, waiting for when the bird would leave. She was this close to her food, this close to prey but that spark, that strange smell in the air made her fur stand up on end.

So she will watch and wait.

...

Silver-eyed bird watched the creature's eye flicker into life. She whistled and trilled at it, hoping to hear it do the same, hoping to assure this deep drive hidden deep within.

It didn't respond.

The bird trilled again, nudging at the creature as she would her family. It moved, but it didn't respond and only sparks came from the cracks within its body. She hopped from side to side, watching and waiting.

There were still only sparks, but something else followed. It was subtle at first, feeling more like a change in the air. Then, there was a sound, a high pitched whine. The bird waited, hope and excitement rising in her body.

There was nothing. It stopped, even the sparks and she saw its eye staring into the distance, its glow flickering on and off

Then, something jumped out at her in the bushes and the bird felt something sharp scrape along her back.

...

The camera could only watch as a grey cat launched from the undergrowth, her paw swiping the silver-eyed juvenile. Though the bird managed to get away, the camera could hear it lingering, chirping at the machine.

The cat meanwhile paced back and forth, looking upwards. It would occasionally sit still, look up and jump, yet the bird continued to linger.

It made no sense.

Every time the silver-eyed bird chirped, the cat grew more and more agitated. Something else rustled in the bushes, and two smaller cats - kittens - emerged out of the undergrowth. They sat on the ground, watching their mother jump every now and then.

A feather twired through the air, falling to the ground.

It made no sense.

This chase continued, with the bird flying just out of reach and the sounds of other birds, perhaps the family of the silver-eyed one chittering through the air. From the sounds, they too seemed to refuse to leave, waiting for their child to come back. Some even dived, almost hitting the cat in a blur of black feathers before swooping back up.

More feathers fell to the ground.

It made no sense.

The machine was suddenly reminded of the memory that used to replay through its code. The images and movements superimposed over the present and, every time the woman talked, more feathers would fall to the ground.

"I just hope that, one day, none of you will be stuck in one place, stuck to the past."

The silver-eyed bird, despite the risks, landed, hopping onto the ground. It then flew, its focus switching from the cat to the camera.

"I want you to live your own life-"

Prompted by the strongest feeling yet, the camera gathered all the reserve energy it could. A piece of knowledge pushed at the machine, pushed at the code - the knowledge that the cat was hunting. It had to drive the persistent feline off and scare away its silver-eyed companion.

"–without feeling compelled to search for an owner that isn't there-"

The cat jumped once more, stopping only when sparks exited the camera's frail body. It arched its back, hissing.

"–for a place that will no longer be important."

The machine pushed a loud and harsh whine through its speakers. Crackles filled the air and, for one clear moment, the camera could capture key moments changing within seconds. For one clear moment, there was order in the chaos.

One.

The cat arched its back, fur puffing out. It focused on the plastic-covered machine, taking a swipe at its form.

Two.

The camera rolled, tilting upwards before falling on the ground.

Three.

With its lens to the sky, the machine saw the birds zip through the air, unsteady and unsure.

Four.

The four birds formed a circle, gradually spiralling upwards. They flew into the distance.

Then, the camera's vision flickered into obscurity, the real world turning into blends of colours identical to the corruption within its memories. There was a moment of silence, a moment of stillness where the machine waited for the colours to maybe fade away.

And it did.

The colours disappeared gradually, revealing the room where the woman would usually be, staring at the camera's lens. She said something, some phrase or word though it couldn't quite register the sound.

The machine suddenly remembered. After the colours, the corruption that plagued that one memory, that one time just before the woman left, it remembered her speaking about some mundane experiences.

"I don't want to be forgotten."

It remembered how she spoke of her day, how she described her grief as staying with her but no longer persistent. It remembered how she described change, how people nowadays with pain and suffering, waiting for the end of the world, made it harder to realise just how quickly things moved.

Its code then went through the memories of her life, the memories the woman shared with the machine. They went by, flickering faster and faster. It was on the verge of recalling something else but, all it could see was the sky, clear and blue, fractured into a million pieces.

Then-

...

As the harsh sound filled the air, the silver-eyed bird felt something snap. It was like meaning had been washed away, like the feeling where she flew through an unfamiliar place. She couldn't quite understand the change, the sudden emptiness that accompanied that knowledge, that certainty that the drive which kept her tethered to the creature despite all the danger from the cat, would no longer exist.

What went with it was something else, that sense of place. The general area still felt like home, but it was no longer safe. Predators roamed the area and she had to move, her parents and her brother had to leave. They had to join the flock. They had no choice.

Their home was no longer safe and they must find another. So they left, as the sun set, leaving the ruins that once drew them in time and again, behind.

...

The cat failed. That creature, that irregular shape which held itself within the roots of the tree, emitted a sound so loud that it pierced her ears and scared off her prey - the birds. She swayed a little, still disoriented from the creature's call.

After a few steps, her hearing more or less adjusted. She continued walking away from that place. It was an unsafe area, at least for now.

Yet, despite that failure, despite her lack of prey, she could still hear other animals - ground creatures which scurred within the underbrush. There were plenty and even her children managed to hunt successfully. She, herself, had caught a lizard not long after that failure.

So the cat returned to the shelter, a small lizard in her mouth, followed by her offspring. The distance was blissfully quiet, broken only by the sounds of healthy prey. She and her family entered the shelter, they curled up, ready to sleep. This place was safe, absent of any sickly rats and full of abundant prey. This place was now a new home.

- FIN -

******

Final Word Count: 20472