Chuckles's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Chuckles sat on the cracked loading platform of the old coaster and tried to lift his left arm. It jerked sideways and stopped. He sighed through his speaker grille and pulled out his folded notes. Arms first, the list said. Always arms first. They moved wrong, and wrong-moving arms made children cry. He flattened the paper against his knee and stared at the sketches he had drawn a hundred times. Somewhere, somehow, he had to fix this. He just wasn't sure how yet. He stood up and walked through the weeds toward the small rusted building at the edge of the trees. Vines crawled across its metal panels. A round blue window watched him like a tired eye. He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Tools hung on hooks. Spare gears sat in cracked trays. Chuckles set his notes on the workbench and clamped his bad arm into the vise. He picked up a screwdriver in his good hand. The first screw turned. He had a workshop now. He had a plan. Tonight, he would begin.