She used to be a robot. And even then, they told her it wasn’t possible. No one has ever heard of a condensed milk can becoming a robot. But she knew she was the stuff of dreams when the bubblegum punk band picked her out of the line of cans to star in their music video. They drew her a face using a marker pen, and gave her a storyline. Just like that, she was de-anonymised, animated, made alive. They threw her away after, but left enough of a pulse that she went on rolling, looking for another part, another chapter.

And at each forgotten corner of the street, where the breeze congregated crumpled pieces of newspaper and plastic coffee cup lids, she paused and asked for someone to join her. First was a ballpoint pen without its ballpoint. And it became her hand. Then a balding tennis ball that escaped a game of fetch, which became her head. One half chewed black shoe lace that became her vocal chords. A torn note that said, “Dear Amin, I wish I had the courage to…” which became the beginnings of her liver. And so on..

In a week, she became as tall as a trashcan, and moved with the delicate grace of a machine made from intentions. But she was still, missing a heart. A rumour passed on from a train track mouse to a drainpipe roach drifted to her – that there was a part, that could be a heart, resting at the foot of a Callery pear tree, seven corners away. So she, or by this point, they, went.

And when they found it, they realised, in fact, it wasn’t just a heart that was discovered. But a soul hidden in the seed of an almost-blooming flower. And just like that, they became, something entirely different.



(from a story seed from someone)