Rubber bands

"And that's how I eventually got rid of all those stinky spots," you finish the brief, autobiographical story you were telling the group of 8-10 children that had gathered around you. Why, you ask yourself, "why do they keep coming back? It's because...I'm awesome!"

Just as you finish thinking these words, Bob rolls up in his fantastic limo-truck, and says, "Andrew! You've got to help me! I'm being chased by a herd of wild boulders!"

Dismissing the thought as another promise that a politician won't keep, you are struck by a small fleck of rubble. As you turn to look, a steady stream of small pebbles begins raining down on you. Bob grabs you by the collar and pulls you into the limo-truck as he pulls away, tires squealing, honk blaring, and brights flashing. YOu look out the back window, and sure enough, a herd of wild boulders is chasing Bob!

"What in the!?" you mildly scream at Bob. "I know, I know," he begins. "I was minding my own business, when all the sudden..."

"Wait," you cut him off, knowing full well that Bob has never minded his own business.

"Okay, I was randomly picking up smaller boulders and smashing them to bits against the larger boulders. It's a new workout I'm trying out."

"That explains why they're after you," you logically point out. "Now I have the solution. Let them smash one of the town babies against you..."

"Are you insane!" he screams at you. "Think of the bad publicity. I'd never get re-elected!"

Your thought process is interrupted suddenly by one of the boulder banging into the side of the vehicle. You roll down the window, and sit up, riding side saddle in the window hole, legs dangling against the side of the truck. At just the right moment, now! YOu jump for the first boulder.

Bad idea. The boulder is moving along by rolling, something you hadn't planned on. In fact you had no plan, other than to remove yourself from the babble that Bob was producing. In any case, your landing on the boulder was tough, and so was the following trip to the ground. You get crunched to bits by the rolling boulder.

The boulders regroup, and head back to the hills, having satisfied their own twisted sense of justice. You are not a baby, but I guess they figure you'd do.

Strangely, having been smashed to bits doesn't seem to hurt you. Your atoms are scattered everywhere; some on the street, some have been hurled high into the sky, and some were actually breathed in by Bob. You can still feel all of them, as though you were just stretched out really far. And then, slowly, the atoms being coming together again, like a rubber band springing back. Your atoms rip through the sky, rip across the street, rip through Bobs lungs (he shouts and then goes back to the press conference he had called to celebrate his victory over the boulders and to mourn your untimely death, untimely in the sense that you hadn't gone on the hike you had planned for tomorrow), and snap back together as though nothing had happened.

"Wow," you say. "Never had that happen before."

Wow indeed. Turns out, you're a rubber band.