If I were this, how would this look?

The chair sits unmoving in the cold breeze. No one seems to want to sit, but why? I am in a crowd of people trying to get inside the building. It is as if they don’t care. It is almost like the chair is possessed. Its cold, lonely beauty made me wonder if it was really there. I stood, it seemed as time stood still, in front of the chair slowly moving towards in through the crowd of people. Is this even real? Is the chair real? Is the crowd real? Am I real? I am overanalyzing this. It is just a chair, after all. Or is it the symbolic representation of me? A lonely, tired, old person that no one really cares for. Does this chair need companionship too? I know for a fact that I do. I need this. Why? Why does this chair affect me this much? It is just a chair! No, it isn’t, it is not just a chair. It is different. Why is it so different? Why are my feet moving; I am not doing this. The chair is not me. It is not lonely. It is hungry. Hungry for the care and use of a human. I sit in the chair, and begin rocking… back and forth, back and forth. I finally realize that this chair, this situation, this crowd, me… we’re not real. I am not simply sitting in a chair. I am resting on my life and everything in my past. I am trying to suppress my past through this situation. But then again, it is just a chair after all.

Scurrying around this house, I find nothing. No food and no water. Escaped from my colony, I try to make it on my own, but how? How ill I feed my self and my family, with nothing? Ah, finally. An old, wooden chair. Nothing is stopping me from taking this all for me. Why does the colony deserve this? It is mine, mine forever. No one will ever have this again.

That chair is just sitting there. No one is using it. What would it matter if I just took it? The old man never even uses it. Would he even notice? Half blind and deaf in one ear? He’ll never even realize I’m there. The chair is mine. What made me this evil? I don’t know, and I honestly don’t care, but I need that chair.

Rolling for miles and miles. That is my life. There is nothing to it, but why? The heat beats down on my back for hours at a time, my paint is faded, and I’m falling apart. What would anyone want with me? While this question puzzles me, people really do seem to love me. The station; at last I am home. People will flock to me and come inside my doors. Even with that much love, I find it difficult to carry on, day after day, mile after mile. Apparently, my existence matters to someone, but I see no purpose in my life. These tracks are my personal slice of death. Every single day, my wheels are forced against the tracks, sparks shoot out from under me. Every day, I fall apart. At least the station is well within my reach. At least I am where people appreciate me, once again.

The wind is in my face, and I am happy. Not too happy, but just enough. A train station under me lets a train inside. Why on Earth do people do that instead of fly? Not the flying that they do in those giant metal tubes with wings, but fly like me. It is one of the best things to do, in my opinion. The train station looks busy today. There are many cars in the parking lot. It is amazing that this many people ride trains. I suppose it could be interesting. After all, flying does get monotonous, but still, it has got to be better than riding around on the ground.

No, no, no! The train is probably gone! There goes one! I hope it wasn’t mine. The train leaves the station at 10:30 at arrives at its destination at 12. I sound like a mathematician giving one of the cliché math problems. I probably could have driven. Pittsburgh isn’t that far. At least I won’t waste gas. Good; the station is in sight! Does that train say “Pittsburgh”? No! I am late. Wait!

This road allows that guy to drive too fast. Wait, no! Not the highway. This road was bad enough, now you want to go 70 miles per hour? Do you have any idea, how bad this hurts? How about I put you on the ground and push you across the asphalt? How would you like that? I bet you wouldn’t like that at all, so why do you make me do this? This man is a terrible driver; he is going to hit some one and get me destroyed. I am so angry! This highway is horrible, why would someone create something that puts me in pain? I would like to run that guy over. That would be one person I wouldn’t mind getting blown out on.

These roads aren’t crowded enough, if I go north I might reach the highway. Then me and my friend can play chicken. First one to pull up or get hit by a car loses. It is so fun to do that. I’ve been clipped before, but I never died. I guess that was obvious. I remember one time, I caused a seven care pile-up and everyone died. I somewhat feel guilty for that. I’m a crow, true guilt is unattainable. The highway at last. These cars are in for a surprise. A gas tanker; this will be very fun!

Not today, not today! I need to meet my girlfriend for dinner tonight! And of course, I go and get myself lost. I just need to find some kind of landmark or something. Is that the highway? Finally, I know where I am. If I go south, I should be able to see the airport. Is that a crow, headed for me? Oh God, I hope I don’t hit him. If he gets caught in my engine, I might go down. And there is a gas tanker down there; that could cause problems. Oh no, my engine is on fire! Avoid the gas truck, please God! Fire has got to be the worst thing ever.