Life on the rails By �anna Cullen There are no people living here anymore. Noone to talk to, noone to look at. I don�t think there will be anyone for a long time. Maybe I should take some time off, Maybe I should stop living here myself? Eh Harold? The Mattress is getting lumpy. A spring came through yesterday and nearly pierced me, straight through the eye and into my brain. It made a boing sound before it ripped through though, so I was able to get my head out of the way in time. Maybe I shouldn�t have. When there were people living here, they used to say that I was a pitiful sight. A thankless job they said I had, a thankless job. I�m wondering whether I still am a pitiful sight. Probably more so now, since my fingers started to fall off. I still remember that very day. The turning point, if you will allow the phrase? My car was in wonderful shape, I had a family then, and we all went for a drive. A short trip to be sure, but hardly un-eventful. They had screeched screamed in terror as we sped towards the wall. They were new you see, but I was a veteran. An old timer in the field of consumer safety. A perfect day it was. Not a scratch on me afterwards. 80 miles an hour an not a broken arm or leg. The young ones in the back however, they didn�t get off so lightly. Straight through the front window they went. A man in a grey suit had shouted and screamed so loudly after the crash. Poor Harold, it wasn�t his fault. But he took the screaming all the same, a whole hour it went on. I waited outside for him. A design flaw in the car was all it was, nothing to do with Harold. That was around the same time everyone started leaving. Harold packed everything up, even my family. He had intended to bring me with him too, until I asked if I could stay. That had come as a bit of a shock to Harold. I don�t know why. He always talked to me! Just because I had decided to talk to him, just once. I really wanted to stay! He backed away then, a look of disbelief in his eyes. Horrified, how dare he be horrified! 13 years working with him and he was horrified when I decided to speak to him. I tried to stop him running away, asked him what was wrong. He just ran as fast as he could. But I was taller than he, and faster. When I caught him I tried to prove to him that I meant no harm, but even when I took his head off, he didn�t understand. Even now, sitting beside me he refuses to talk. Or move, or do anything. His face has gone a funny colour, even though I put his head back on the way he always did mine. I think he might need some varnish, but I can�t find any and if I did, I don�t think it would matter. He�s a lot more mushy and runny than I am, not an ideal dummy at all. I think he�s made from a different type of wood. |
| (c) Eanna Cullen |