The Green Tyrant

 My assignment was to write a story about something that shouldn't have been invented. This is my first version. 

My jaw dropped at the sight of the green beast. For a brief moment I was convinced that the anti-Christ had landed. Upon regaining my mental senses I realise the full extent of the being’s purpose. It’s a car. I stepped outside to inspect this insect-like vehicle from closer quarters. It looked like a deformed platypus scouring the landscape in search of acceptance. Its colour resembled decaying moss on an Aztec ruin in some overrun rainforest.  My jaw plunged further. I suspect my appearance resembled that of a deranged whale struggling to devour distressed krill. Clad in my vividly coloured pyjamas I stood there in deafening silence. Fiat had out done themselves this time. To explain how ugly this car is would be the equivalent of flying to the moon in a Lego spaceship. My sighs echoed through the streets.

It was brutally cold on that Saturday morning. I hurried inside. The car looked even worse as I nervously peered from underneath my living room curtain. Being a man of value, I decided to write a formal letter of complaint to Fiat. My general sentiment was: they should ship the entire production to the mid-Atlantic, so they could dump them over the side. No reply was ever received. Days became weeks, which turned into months. Still that car stood there smirking at me with those narrow little eyes. I became increasingly concerned for my sanity.

One morning, while sincerely considering the sale of my house, I had an epiphany. It felt morally unacceptable for the owners to destroy my livelihood with such a deplorable car. Thus my plan of destroying the vehicle was initiated. My neighbours were set to go on a week-long French holiday and I had politely accepted the request to tend to the well-being of their property,

Such a car should never have been invented. The designer was probably a cynical tyrant plotting to destroy the eyes of man-kind. Or Fiat had asked a three year old with crayons, to design the thing. Either way, I would mend it. My justification seemed objective. It wasn’t. By this time I had accumulated a proficient knowledge in the art of explosive devices. My garage was now overrun by what seemed to be the headquarters of a terrorist organisation.

D-day arrived. Never before had a man walked in this street with a military arsenal greater than mine. In my mind I did society a service. Somehow by the destruction of my neighbour’s car I would achieve the extinction of the entire range of Fiats… ever.  I didn’t think this through. Acting without thinking wasn’t a defect that ran in my family, it was only me. I placed the C4 nonchalantly underneath the car and retreated to my makeshift bunker.

The explosion was nothing short of catastrophic. The existence of the car, along with three quarters of my neighbour’s house was in utter ruin. I had defeated my greatest foe. No! I had not only defeated the car, I had improved every trait it boasted. Victory comes to those who persist in hard work and belief. I smiled for the first time in months. I yelled in jubilation. That’s when I awoke from the sound of my own voice. I scurried from underneath my blankets and rushed outside. I was faced by the antagonist of my nightmares. The green Fiat Multipla did not have so much as a scratch. My dreams had cruelly deceived me.