by: John Martin (c) John Martin
“Dump truck,” cried little Danny Swartsbach. “Dump truck,” he yelled as he smashed his large plastic Dump truck against the ground. “Dumpy, dumpy, dump, dump, dump,” little Danny Swartsbach whispered as he raised the Dump truck above his head. “Dump truck,” he bellowed and the truck flew from his hands and traveled the four feet it took to reach the earth below. Crash, went the Dump truck as its plastic yellow container separated from the red body and large black tires and flew thru the air before landing several feet away.
“Phooey,” said little Danny Swartsbach as he kicked the yellow Dump truck container half-heartedly. He turned and walked inside to munch on a box of chocolate wafers his mom had accidentally left out.
Yes, the Dump truck was broken, but not only in a physical way; the Dump truck was broken on the inside as well. You see, the Dump truck was very vain. It took a great deal of pride in how it looked, as it stood upright with its four big, black plastic tires beneath it.
Now, as it lay separated, it cried silently to itself hoping for a quick death that would never come. The Dump Truck was made of a hardy plastic that had been researched and tested on three to ten year old boys almost exactly like little Danny Swartsbach, thus rendering the Dump truck practically invulnerable; apart from a heavily acidic substance or something that weighed over eighty-five pounds the Dump truck would still exist as an entity in this spiritual plane of existence.
The Dump Truck lay on its side and felt sorry for itself. Oh, how its vanity had been trod on. No one would ever like a Dump Truck in two pieces, no matter how shiny the plastic it had been molded from shone. This feeling of sorrow soon transferred itself into rage. How could little Danny Swartsbach have been so cruel? Had the Dump truck ever done him any injustice? True, the Dump truck could not have moved of its own volition to have done anything to little Danny Swartsbach, but still.
Luckily for the Dump truck little Emily Swartsbach happened to be passing by as the Dump truck was having such confused, un-Dump truck-like thoughts. Little did the Dump truck know, but Emily was a special girl.
Emily had mind powers, not just any mind powers; Emily was an Empath. For those of you who don’t know, an Empath is someone who can feel another’s emotions without being told or witnessing how they feel, they just know. Emily Swartsbach was a special Empath. She was a toy-only Empath, or in other words, she could tell the emotions of toys.
This helped her toys in many ways. Her Barbie dolls were kept far away from Ken (who was a “doodie-head”), her plastic horses were let out every afternoon to graze the lawn, her dollies were never forced to come to dress-up tea parties, but invited, and she never ever picked a favorite toy because it caused too much jealousy among the others.
Little Emily Swartsbach knelt down by the broken Dump truck and peered at it for a second. The Dump truck felt calmer as little Emily Swartsbach’s big blue eyes surveyed its separate, dusty plastic surfaces. Little Emily Swartsbach rose from her little crouch to her full three foot, two inch height and moved fluidly (although very much like a small person) over to the Dump truck’s yellow container. She took the container in her small, childly-plump hands and moved back towards the read plastic body of the Dump truck.
She flipped the dump truck onto its big, black plastic wheels and put her free hand carefully on the red plastic cab of the Dump truck. Little Emily Swartsbach lowered herself carefully back into a crouch and brought her other hand up (the hand holding the yellow plastic container). It hovered momentarily before delicately lowering the plastic yellow container onto the red plastic body. With a surgery-like precision Emily Swartsbach leaned slightly on the yellow plastic container until she heard the click of fasteners falling into place.
The Dump truck was once again whole and filled with overpowering joy and gratitude toward little Emily Swartsbach. She flushed with an embarrassed pride that caused her head to turn slightly in that cute little girl way. Before she stood she leant over the Dump truck and whispered quietly to it, “Don’t worry little Dump truck, you’re Danny’s toy, but that doesn’t mean you have to stay busted up all the time, I’ll unbust you when he busts you.” And then she was gone, skipping along the lawn to do her little girl things.
The Dump truck stood once again on its tires, but this time with a different perspective on things. No longer was it a vain Dump truck; it was going to be a hard life living as a toy of little Danny Swartsbach. But this Dump truck was made of sterner stuff than just firm childproof plastic.
It had to tell itself this many more times as little Danny Swartsbach emptied from the house in a chocolate wafer filled frenzy, crumbs still falling from his lips. A sickening flush of joy passed through little Danny Swartsbach’s eyes as he saw his Dump truck in one piece. “Dump truck,” he cried as he ran towards his toy.
The Dump truck prepared itself. <<< back to more John Martin! |
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