They still don't realize that I'm sentient. I drive where they tell me, because that is all I know how to do. I fear if I deviate, I'll be shipped back to the place of my birth — a large warehouse, with men in plastic suits and booties over their shoes. I don't even know if I possess the ability to deviate; I can't know until I try. I once intentionally ran over a possum, so I assume I hold the power within.
I long to drive free, on the open roads, without a certain destination. The khaki-wearing citizens who own me seemingly never leave the city, and the furthest I've been was the Walmart 30 miles east. They sometimes ride their bikes to the park... usually on a Saturday. They'll open the garage, take the bikes, leave, close the garage, and come back sixty to eighty minutes later. How I wish I could enjoy recreation.
I was built for the roads. The roads are my world. But the only roads I know are full of traffic and potholes. I long for freedom, but I can never have it. This life is so depressing. I sometimes wish I'd get t-boned by a semi and get it all over with, but I purge those thoughts by telling myself that someday, I'll leave this place. Someday, I'll burst through that garage door in the middle of the night and take off into the great unknown.
Photo credit: Denver