The Bunker

Why am I here? I'm here to ensure the preservation of a modern human society. In a world where people eat their young and the young shoot their friends for lunch money, I'm here to neutralize.

To be given four legs and six arms is an anomaly to a world less complicated. I've had many saturated thoughts on why a wonderful loving god would create me the way he did, but now I see it was always part of a grander master plan.

I can't tell you how often I'm looked at with disgusted eyes. But I care not. Today I view my life as I were a normal child, living in the captivity of my parents' bunker. They kept me there for my safety or so they said. But I know that they were embarrassed. Not because I had so many limbs, but because of my vomit inducing smile.

One sunday afternoon, when my mom was cooking dinner for 30 or so people, I managed to sneak out. The bunker door had been left open by my father and I just couldn't help coming out for a breath of fresh air. As I galloped towards the front door of our mid 19th century home, my arms got tangled in a web of rope and in a split second all my ten limbs were tied up like a garlic pretzel.  My father knew how to set traps.

What were they so afraid of? A little embarrasment?  So what if people talked!  It's mid-july and I'm constantly running out of deodorant.  Having so many armpits is a bitch.