Perfection In a Tin

Intro
Perfection In A Tin is a story I wrote in 2010, originally drafted as a piece of AS English Language coursework.
This is the complete first draft, which was entered into a writing competition at school, and was picked as the winner of the sixth form entries.


Perfection In A Tin

Okay, so I admit it, I'm not perfect. But who is, really? As the human race trundles along with its regular day to day life, mistakes are made. Flaws are discovered in each individual. Ultimately, that is the way that we work. That is what makes us human beings.

But what if someone were to challenge this idea? What if there was a person who did everything in the right way, no matter the circumstances and no matter how difficult it may be to everyone else? Could that person still be classed as normal? Could that person be seen as a true human being?

I was asking these questions repeatedly since the first day of Year Eleven.

Pedro was quiet when he joined 11HU. There were a lot of people in the form group anyway, and Pedro had to take the last available seat - next to me. I was busy discussing the summer's biology homework with Ryan and Harry, who were sat at the table in front, so I didn't notice the new arrival now sat alongside me.

When I did glance at him, his head was down, already focused on the pages of the book he had in his lap, so I couldn't see his face clearly. I went back to my conversation and didn't pay attention to him for the next five or ten minutes.

Ryan was the first to say something to him, at a break in the discussion.

'Hey, what's that you're reading?'

I looked towards the boy now, listening for his response. His head had shot up, so I could look at him properly.

He had brown hair that didn't look too scruffy, but wasn't exactly neat either. The back of it was a mess of organised waves, which continued around the sides and to the slightly gelled fringe. It was just the perfect balance between mischievous youth and too-tidy geek. He wore squared glasses in front of his emerald green eyes. They looked startlingly bright in the fluorescent lights of the classroom.

The way his uniform laid on his body matched the nature of his hair. He had his shirt tucked in, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His tie was long, but hung loose around his neck. I could see the sharp edge of a white, folded piece of paper sticking out of his trouser pocket - his lesson timetable, I assumed. His light blue school jumper was folded neatly and sat on the back of his chair.

'It's called The Universe: Are We Alone? by Rupert Garde,' he replied, enthusiastically.

He shifted in his seat, turning in order to face us better and lifted the book to show us the cover.

The three of us closely analysed the image of the solar system on the front of the book, while the new boy gave us a summary of the author's opinions on the possibility of alien activity on and around planets like Mars and Saturn. I zoned out after the first couple of seconds, distracted by a fly that was buzzing around behind this guy's head.

He must have seen my eyes wander, because he looked in the direction I was. He also seemed to have spotted the fly, because his movements became slower and more careful. He put a long index finger to his lips, to tell us to stay quiet. He held his other hand out in the air, palm to the ceiling. He became still, only his eyes moving as they followed the path of the fly. We watched with him, as the insect flew lower, and landed in the middle of the boy's hand. We were wide-eyed as he stood, moved over to the nearby open window and let the fly out into the fresh, early autumn air.

He smirked at the stunned look on our faces as he came to sit back down.

'I'm Pedro,' he said, leaning back in his chair.

'I'm Eddie,' I replied. 'This is Harry and Ryan,' I said, gesturing to each of them in turn.

'Hey,' Pedro grinned, the light reflecting off of his pearly white teeth.

I didn't have many of the same lessons as Pedro. In fact, the only times I saw him during the rest of that first day was in History, last period. He sat at a desk at the front of the classroom, next to Gary, a few rows in front of me. I watched him for the whole, hour long lesson; not paying attention to Mr Howley's droning talk about the Industrial Revolution.

Pedro seemed to follow every movement of the teacher. His head pivoted from side to side as Mr Howley paced up and down at the front of the room. It was as if he was transfixed by his speech, hypnotised by the monotonous sound of the lecture. My eyes were drawn to his left hand, which was moving in rhythm backwards and forwards across the desk. It took me a moment to realise that there was a pen in his hand. He was taking notes from what Mr Howley was saying, although he did not seem to look down at what he was writing at all.

The bell seemed to ring sooner than usual, signalling the end of the day. This would normally be the point where I would practically jump out of my chair and pack my things into my bag, eager to get away from the school grounds as soon as possible. I didn't that day. Instead, I continued to stare past the hustle and bustle of fidgeting students, focused on Pedro. He was standing by the side of his desk, placing his pen into a clear plastic pencil case. It was filled to the brim with biros, rulers and erasers. He zipped the case up and put it into his bag. He placed the strap of the bag on his right shoulder, with the same care that someone would take when placing a baby in a cradle. My eyes followed him as he strolled out through the classroom door, a butterfly among the bees in the busy corridor.

For the rest of the week, I watched him. He was quiet most of the time, unless someone spoke to him. In registration, he sat next to me, reading the same book he had read on his first day.

I would see him during lunch breaks, when he would sit alone at a table in a corner of the canteen - the same table every day, without fail.

He was in the same Maths class as me. This was a lesson that we had almost every day, and I watched him continuously.

The last Maths lesson of the week was on Thursday. Miss Morel picked on Pedro to answer a question about symmetry. He had been watching her, in the same way that he had watched Mr Howley on Monday. He continued to look directly at her until she had finished asking him the question. Then, without thought or hesitation, he gave the correct answer and an explanation of why it was so, all with a rather matter-of-fact tone of voice. Miss Morel's eyes seemed to widen slightly in surprise, but she quickly composed herself and nodded in approval. She didn't ask him to answer another question for the rest of the lesson.

My dad was still at work when Harry and I got in from school that Friday. My younger brother, Daniel, had gotten home before us and had already claimed his place in front of the T.V, so we went up to my bedroom. I started playing a film on my laptop and we sat on the floor with our backs against my bed to watch it. The male lead of the film effectively had the looks of a god and everyone seemed to notice him. It reminded me of Pedro. I turned to Harry:

'So what do you think of that new kid?' I asked, as casually as I could.

'You mean that Pedro guy?' he said, not looking away from the screen.
'Yeah, him.'
'He seems alright.'
'Hmm...' I replied thoughtfully.
'What?' Harry looked at me, confused by my lack of agreement. 'Don't you think so?'
'I do...' I said slowly. 'But there's something about him that doesn't seem...normal.'
'Normal?' Harry questioned with a half-smile. 'Well, who is really? Look at you: you're a prime example!' He laughed and tensed up; ready for the playful punch I would usually throw at his ribs. This time I didn't.
'Seriously, Harry. He just seems too...perfect.'
'Too perfect?' he asked, relaxing his shoulders and raising an eyebrow. 'You're worrying me now, Eddie. How'd you mean?'
'Well, for a start, he knows answers to pretty much every question he's asked.'
'So what if he's a clever guy? Einstein's probably the same, but no one ever thought anything of it.'
'It's different though,' I insisted, shaking my head. 'He never even stops to think about it, but he still never gets a question wrong. The way he moves, too. It’s just all stiff and kind of...mechanical.'
Harry thought about it for a moment, before saying 'I wouldn’t exactly say mechanical, but I see your point. So what if he does, though? It’s not that weird.'
'What about his looks though? He basically looks like a film star.'
'How closely have you been studying him?' Now both of Harry's eyebrows were raised. 'You sound like you're becoming obsessed.'
'I'm not obsessed, I just...'
'Look, don't worry about it, Eddie. It's not like he's an alien or something.'
I sighed and nodded. We went back to watching the film, and I avoided mentioning Pedro again. I must have sounded like such a fool…

Later that night, after Harry had gone home, I was laying on my bed, deep in thought. What if Harry was wrong? What if Pedro was in fact an alien? The possibility of them existing hasn't been completely ruled out. Although he didn't have green skin and a strangely shaped head, he could have disguised himself as a human. I shook my head at how ridiculous that idea was. This is the real world, and I doubt I'm going to see a TARDIS flying around outside my window anytime soon.

So why did Pedro seem to be so different from everyone else?

The following couple of weeks were similar to the first one. I studied Pedro's movements whenever I saw him, and when I didn't I sat daydreaming my way through my lessons, compiling a list of things that made Pedro seem less than human. His intelligence, his careful and deliberate movements, the way he strolls through the school at a constant speed all the time without bumping into anyone- these were just a few examples.

One day, about four weeks into the autumn term, it had started raining during the morning break. Nearly all of the girls - along with some of the boys - rushed inside to the hall in order to protect their carefully styled hair. By the time just a handful of drops had fallen, the playground had all but cleared. Ryan, Harry and I were among the few that were brave enough to stay out in the downpour, still gathered at our usual spot on one of the benches. Ryan and Harry were in a deep discussion about the new Call of Duty game that had recently been released. I was gazing out onto the playground, where a moving figure stood out against the dull, grey playground. I could see that it was Pedro just from the steady pace at which he was walking towards the school building. I stood up.

'I'll see you guys later,' I said to the others and walked off without further explanation. I sped up slightly in order to keep Pedro in sight. I followed him through the door that led inside and down the corridor, into the boys’ toilets. Pedro was stood over by the mirrors, his bag perched on the side of one of the sinks. He had his right arm stretched out in front of him. He was rubbing a strange, green coloured cream into the inside of his elbow with the fingers on his left hand. I thought he had not noticed my entrance until he suddenly spoke:

'Hello, Eddie.'

I frantically searched for something to do to make myself look busy. I approached the sink next to him and held my hands under the automatic taps. I focused on the running water as I said, 'Erm...hey.'

'I've been meaning to ask you something, Eddie.'

'Oh yeah?'

'Yeah,' he said.

We were silent for a minute or two, me washing my hands needlessly, him rubbing the unusual cream into his left arm now. Finally, he said 'Why do you think I'm weird?'

I froze. Did he know about me doubting his humanity? And if he did, how did he? Surely he couldn't read minds as well?

I looked up from the sink to see him staring at me with a blank expression on his face. I opened and closed my mouth two or three times, in true goldfish fashion, trying to formulate an answer.

'Erm....weird? Why would I think that?' was the best thing I could think of.

'I heard Harry telling Ryan that you thought I was weird. I just wondered why.'

'Oh. Well, I...' I stammered. 'I don’t -’

The door opened. We both looked towards it to see a Year Nine boy walk in, looking at us nervously. He went into a cubicle and Pedro and I remained silent. Pedro stretched his fingers out, flexing them carefully, and then reached over to zip his bag up. He lifted it by the strap and placed it on his shoulder in the same, deliberate way he did at the end of each lesson. As he went to swing his other hand down by his side, he knocked it against the china sink. But, instead of the 'clonk' kind of sound you would expect to hear, it made a sort of 'clank' sound as it connected with the edge of the basin. The sort of sound that metal would make. I looked from his hand to his face. My eyes met his. There was a coldness there that I had not seen in any human's eyes before. Then he turned and stalked out of the door.

I didn't bother telling Ryan or Harry about what had happened in the toilets. They would only laugh it off and tell me it was ridiculous. I tried to think of a rational explanation for his arm making such a metallic sound. It had been a hollow metal resonance, similar to that of tin or steel. Perhaps he was wearing a watch on his wrist that I hadn't noticed. Or maybe I’d imagined the sound. Given the state of my imagination lately, it wasn’t completely implausible. But that didn’t explain the darkness in his eyes. It wasn't natural.

I did not see Pedro until two days later. It was a Saturday and I’d taken a walk to the park. I liked it there and I visited often. The field was quite big, so it always seemed to be peaceful, even if there were people there. It was a good place for me to spend some time alone with my thoughts, seeing as the house was always so hectic and loud at the weekends.

The park was empty when I arrived, so I sat in my usual spot on the purple bench. This gave me a clear view of the small basketball court that had recently been built. I soon became lost in my own mind, my thoughts wandering to random places, without me even trying. I don’t know how long I was there before someone else entered the park.

I saw Pedro before he saw me. He walked across the grass, spinning a basketball continuously on his index finger. Once he reached the court, he glanced around the park. He saw me staring at him. I shifted my view to focus on the flaked paintwork of the bench. I was worried he would come over and ask me that question again, until I heard him start bouncing a ball against the concrete.

I looked back over at him. He threw the ball into the basket effortlessly, with perfect aim. He caught it and started dribbling it again. His eyes moved up to the hoop and he took a run up. He jumped, the ball in his hands, poised to shoot. When he was in mid air, he looked over at me. Our eyes met for about 5 seconds, though it felt like longer. He seemed to suddenly remember the position he was in, because he shot his head round to face the ground.

It was too late for him to land steadily. His feet hit the ground awkwardly and he stumbled. He put his arm out to support his landing. From where I was, I could see it scrape across the concrete. Before I could think about what I was doing, I was up out of my seat and jogging over to where he lay.

'Pedro, are you okay?' I called as I got closer.

'Yeah, I'm fine,' he said in his usual, velvety voice. He had sat up by the time I reached him. He was looking intently at his injured arm.

'Let me see? You're probably gonna need stitches for tha-!'

'No, I won’t, it's fine,' he said, loudly. His tone of voice had a new edge to it, he sounded anxious, almost.

'No, it's not,' I insisted, kneeling down next to him. 'Let me see.'

He looked up at me as I extended my hand towards him slightly. Reluctantly, he held his arm out and laid it in my outstretched palm.

I know what I had expected. I had expected to see a rip in the skin. I had expected the gash to be deep and full of blood. I had even expected to see a part of his bone showing just below the wound.

What I saw was not what I expected. Not entirely at least. There was a rip in the skin, but it was clean. The gash was deep but there was no trace of any blood. There was something showing just below the wound, but it was not a bone.

It seemed to continue along the whole length of his arm.

It was silver.
The midday sun glinted off of it.
I lifted my other hand towards it.
I ran my forefinger over it gently.
It was cold.
I tapped my nail against it once.
It made the same sound as it had against the sink.

Metallic. Hollow.

Pedro was made of tin.