Today I am a pink bicycle.

            I like the way the air feels as it rushes past me. I like the way it feels to have my pedals pumped hard by an eager child. The humming of my wheels against the pavement, low and warm, is comforting. I am freedom.

            I consider staying the bicycle tomorrow, but there is so much more out there. I can’t wait to be something else. New feelings draw me in.

            Yesterday I was a stone, a pebble, stuck in the treads of someone’s shoe. I was solid. Heavy, Unchanging. I scraped against the sidewalk as she walked until he lifted his shoe and freed me.

            I lay, baking on the sidewalk. Someone kicked me painlessly. Merrily I bounced forward until my momentum was lost. I was in the grass.

            Soft, warm dirt cradled me in its arms. Ants crawled around me, over me, and I was still.

            I wonder what I will be tomorrow.

            Maybe, just maybe, I will be me.

            I wonder if I know what me is anymore.

            The ride is over. I am parked in a garage, chain wrapped around my frame. Cold metal on warm metal. I cannot shiver.

            I know the light goes out, but nothing changes in this room full of metal.

            Alone, I think. When I am like this, thinking is difficult. Bicycles can’t think. But I can’t remember things properly when I change.

I am twisted. I am rubber and metal. I am pieces but I am one. I cannot move or speak, but I am real.

I think tomorrow I will move on my own. I will have blood and food and thoughts to share.

A mouse, I think. Soft, small, swift, smooth.

I search out a form for me to share. An empty mouse. An empty house.

I choose my home and wait. Slowly I feel myself move- losing the metal, the rubber, the chain. I fade.

I am a mouse. The mouse scampers off.