This is a oneshot about The invention of Hugo Cabret, its under the category because The movie and book are similar and I couldn't find a category for the book.
Fear and panic filled his eyes. Burnt... Burnt! BURNT! No no no! The notebook couldn't be burnt! His father had poured over it! Had left it for Hugo, the Automaton was their project and without... Without the notebook... Without the notebook he could do nothing! Nothing! It was like... Like he'd lost his father to fire all over again.
He almost doubled over with the pain and realization that his notebook was gone forever, as was his father. Tears sprung to his eyes but he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away, or let them fall, so they hung there. He was shaking. Yelling, if only in his mind.
"NO! NO! NO!"
A tear rolled down, just one of them, just one tear, and rolled down, it rolled down. It hit the ground with the ashes that had fallen. His hands quivered. He thought back. He thought. He thought about his father burning in a terrible fire, his Uncle coming to his house and dragging him to the train station. The automaton cradled in his trembling arms. The notebook in his pocket. His Uncle had left soon after, and Hugo had taken the job running the clocks.
He'd run the clocks and work on the Automaton thinking, hoping he'd find a piece of his father if he finished. He'd still when he needed to, but was a somewhat reluctant thief even after his Uncle had showed him how. The Notebook was what he had left of his Father. Without the notebook to fix the automaton he'd never have that piece of his father.
Burnt. Terrible word.
His Notebook was burnt.
His father was burnt.
The funeral made him feel burnt. The burnt feeling rushed over him again.
His father might as well be the ashes that floated around him.
His life might as well be those ashes.
Ashes.
Ashes.
Burnt.
He felt like the Automaton, broken.
But mostly he felt
Burnt.
I'm watching the movie, I got it for Easter, I just realized how sad it must be to feel you have lost everything to fire.