The Tinman

A Story by dukovan

On a little island was a tin man. He'd never get thirsty but he needed to drink the seawater. He would get so lonely on the island all by himself and he would cry. Eventually, he'd run out of tears, seeing as tinmen can't make more tears of their own, he would have to scoop up a funnel full of salty sea water, which are very much like tears, and are in fact where tears come from.

Almost everyday the tin man would cry once and almost everyday the tinman would go to the edge of the beach and scoop one or two mostly full funnels of salty seawater and would drink it down.

The tinman would walk to the edge of the beach on a normal day, but not by the sand. The tide on the sandy beach would come in almost unpredictably and would make his feet wet. Too much of this and the tinman might rust and not be able to move out from the water. So the tinman would walk to the part of the island with a row of rocks that were above the water. He would reach down with the funnel and scoop as much as he could and seal the small end with his hand. He'd hoist it up and send it straight down into his tinny stomach. As the day would go on and with nothing left to do, the tinman would start to get lonely. He'd think about his journey's and his friends, how he didn't remember how he got to this island but how he wished he hadn't. All he remembered were big blowing winds and the sea standing up so tall. People were running and yelling, the next thing he remembered was waking up on the beach of this island, completely stiff and rusted. He laid there for many days before, as luck would have it, an oil tanker crashed into shore, spilling a small reservoir of oil just for him. When he saw this happen before him, he cried out all of the ocean water inside of him first out of joy, then out despair as he realized he couldn't walk the hundred or so yards to get to it. As he waited and wondered what would become of him, he started watching the birds.

The birds were gulls of the sea, they were large and silly. They got in each other's way, they bullied each other. They would dart around the small oasis's that would form after high tide. The little pools would hold water for a full day after the tide would go down and they would be home to all sorts of little crabs and crustaceans that the Gulls liked for lunch. They would flock to this spot which was a perfect view for the tinman. Day after day he would watch them squawk and fight over a crab leg. They'd show up after the tide and dive bomb the area in a moment. All he could do was watch, he couldn't even cry.

The tin man didn't sleep either, such is the nature of tinmen. His eyelids were even rusted open, so he couldn't blink, let alone close his eyes. He had to sit and stare at the world happening around him. He could not move his mouth because that was rusted too so he couldn't speak out loud to himself, he could not sing to himself. Nothing. Though, he could think. Thinking is all the tin man could do with his time. He would think so much, and the sun would set so many times. Every day, the birds would show up and every day the tide would come in and out again. He thought about many things. He thought about his life back home and his friends. He missed walking and singing and dancing. He was known to be an exceptional dancer after a good oiling. He began to imagine himself dancing away at a party back home, with all of his friends, with loud music playing through the streets, and he could almost feel his feet moving under him, in step with the beat of his heart, the only thing in him that wasn't made of tin. As he daydreamt, he could have sworn he saw a couple of the Sea Gulls dancing too. He laughed silently and let them have the thought.

Days seemed entirely the same, as most days were. The only difference was the occasional rain, which, for the tinman, only ensured he'd stay rusted and immobile. He could get a little of the rain in him and could cry. It was all the tin man could do, besides thinking. He mostly cried from loneliness. Sometimes he would cry just because he was so grateful to be able to. As time went on, the tinman became less and less joyful in his thoughts and less and less sad, the same. His heart now only seemed to beat once a day.

Nightfall came, the stars were bright and danced off the water. He sat with an empty feeling for a while, staring at a particularly bright star reflecting off a still tide pool that lasted the night. It was no more than a few feet around and deep. He stared at it for a black eternity. Then a strange thing happened. A fish jumped up and out of the little tide pool into another and then another, then finally out of that one and into the big black ocean, with a million stars dancing over its surface. The tin man felt his heart beating again, quite quickly.

In the morning it was the same but different, the magic from the strange scene last night stayed with the tinman. He wondered if he had gone mad, or maybe had a waking dream. He had been alone for so long, maybe it was just his mind playing tricks on him. He remembered staring at that tide pool, with the brightest star reflecting off of it. He noticed the birds coming in after the tide and gave them the thoughts, so he wouldn't be troubled by them. This time the birds didn't go for the tide pool but flocked past it away from the tidepool. They seemed to be curious about something else, close to the wrecked oil tanker. Then one particularly brave, or curious bird moved towards the tanker itself. The bird divebombed straight for it and disappeared from sight. The tinman sat still and silent, wondering if the bird would surface. While he waited eagerly, another gull flew overhead and repeated the process, straight into the tanker and out of sight. A few more came and followed suit. After each bird dove towards the tanker, none resurfaced. After more than ten birds the tinman became uneasy. He knew something was wrong with no way of checking. “The birds don’t act like this.” He thought to himself. All in a moment, he realized he loved the birds. They were his only companions. He wished he could cry.

An eternity seemed to pass, as every now and then another bird would pass overhead and dive behind the tanker and out of sight. His heart was reeling. He thought the worst for the birds. The first star had winked into existence that night as the sun was on the horizon. He knew it was the same star that was on the tide pool. He thought about the magic fish that defied the impossible and made its way to freedom. As he whelmed with emotion he could no longer tell what he felt, his heart wanted to explode, this was all the tinman could take. Then, with the last bit of light dancing across the sea, a black wisp of a bird darted across the horizon on a chaotic path. It was one seagull, wings tarred in oil, flying unevenly and without a thought of its own. The tinman saw it and his heart reeled harder than ever before. There was no way to know where this bird would land. It twisted without control, in panic and disorder. Then, like magic, it spun and wound its way right onto the tinman's lap. It thrashed in place all over the tinman's body, his arms, his neck, his legs. He never saw such a panic in his life, as he silently and motionlessly watched it happen before him. The panic in the tinman's chest was the same as the birds. Motionlessly soundlessly, the tinman's heart fluttered with the wings, sticking flapping, unevenly The bird over time slowed its thrashing until it lay motionless, exhausted, on the tinman. Them, covered in oil and feathers, his hand started to move ever so slightly.