A Tire Swing Story is a bite-sized "imagining" inspired by an object I discover while wandering. It could be a curbside trash gem or a message sprayed on a wall. A lost mitten, or an antique store find. Anything goes. I photograph the object and post them together, the story and its inspiration. There will be a new story every Monday and Wednesday. On Fridays, I'll discuss writing, life, love, and coffee. (In no particular order and maybe all at once.)
Monday, December 3, 2012
Alright. My data processor tells me it's safe to share the truth with you. I'm constructed of poylmer, and highly advanced synthetic jelly silicon.
I look just like a man. See these Doritos here? I don't need them. I don't need to eat at all. But I do eat. I eat a lot just to keep up my disguise. And I don't need clothes. CR4000s don't feel heat, or cold. My sweatpants and t-shirt are just to fit in with humans. I don't sleep either. I watch a lot of Family Guy at night, for research.
What's that? You want me to get off your bus?
You're making a big mistake, man. I've got incredible strength. This fist here isn't really a fist, it's a deadly weapon. I could rip out your heart in one second. And I'd laugh. I'd laugh while holding onto your still-beating, dripping heart. But I won't do that because with great power, comes great responsibility. That's what I always say.
But really. Imagine a cyborg ninja, and then imagine a tyrannosaurus rex and you'll start to get the idea.
You're calling Transit Authority now? Oh. I see. I'm no longer safe. If The Organization finds me, I will be taken back to the lab and destroyed.
Fine. I'm getting off here. But not because you're trying to intimidate me. I'm choosing to exit this bus, because I need to find a safe place to wait until the world is ready for me.
Don't tell me to get home safe. And don't call me Jim.
My name isn't Jim. It's 20.