Engine Heart

I stand alone in the center of the city.
The thought of survivors left me years ago.

When I first realized they weren't coming back was the first time I felt real joy; now I could go about my nightly routine without interruptions and there was no one to mess everything up. So I went about my nightly routine with renewed gusto. I could take away the filth and not have to think about how there would be more as soon as I turned my back. After some time of this, for the first time since before it was built, the entire city was clear of trash and debris. The next night consisted of picking up some newspaper pages that had been blown loose. I then collected all paper in the city and incinerated it so it wouldn't happen again.

Then I stood in the center of the city.
My task was done and I could rest.

Rest is something easily tired of. They weren't coming back, so, with some difficulty, I decided to clean inside the buildings as well. It was the first real decision I ever made. Though I cannot comprehend how anyone could have lived in such disarray, for quite some time it kept me occupied and content. Clearing the grocery stores of rot was in itself a huge undertaking.
The city gleams, inside and out. Everything is in it's place and everything is in order. Barring any natural disaster, that is the way it will stay.

I stand alone in the center of the city.
The thought of survivors left me decades ago.

And I have begun to rust.