Little Devil
@cygars-and-rust
Hot Rod has been on his own for a while now. He was lucky. He hadn't even graduated from his first frame yet, and often if a mech passed him on the street they'd coo and awe at him and maybe give him some scraps, so he waited every orn by the corner. But the past few orns, they only told him to "Go away" and "Stay back" because he was 'dirty'. He was getting really hungry.
The sparkling cringed as his tanks cramped again, grinding unpleasantly and loudly in complaint, and he couldn't help the few coolant tears that ran down his cheeks. He was so hungry. He crawled to the corner to wait, barely having the strength to sit up without leaning against the wall. Little digits picked at a new brown spot on his arm. He was covered in them. They itched terribly, and the grownups never toucbed him because they were on him, but he just couldn't scratch them off.
So he sat and waited in the cold, even as it began to rain lightly. The bots around him hurried to escape the wet, but no one stopped to help him. So he sat there, too tired to find a dry place.