A Case of Time-Travelling Shorts

Anglia

This is dedicated to pillow_Co, who suggested that I write about "a dirty car that just wants to get clean." I hope you enjoy it! (Written as a Harry Potter fan-fiction, but intended to be enjoyed by all.)

The sky is blue. It mocks me with memories of when I still possessed that iridescent shade. Now my body is a motley collage of decomposition. I can no longer tell if it is dirt or rust that gnaws at my sides, and drips brown in the harsh winter rain.

The world is dark now. In part, this is because I have taken to sheltering beneath the roots of an enormous tree, under the cover of its fallen branches. Here, in the damp and mud, the sky can not mock me.

My abode is not wholly to blame. My circle of vision fades with every passing season. Moss and dirt cloud the remaining mirrors by which I see: my right vision mirror shattered when a passing hex thrust me into the castle's wall. The mirror hangs limp from on my side like a useless limb.

Time is my enemy. Soon my remaining vision will be stolen: vines have wrapped their invading tendrils around my rear vision mirror. Their leaves have already begun to obscure my remaining vision. The blackness scares me, but I am more afraid of what will follow.

Mortal creatures die: they rot, dissolve back into the earth.  Yet I am rotting and still here, my mind, at least, trapped within my metallic corpse. If I am deprived of sight, yet cursed to still exist, I fear insanity will take me.

My wheels no longer turn. A metal mask has been caught between my mudflap and axle since the battle. It has ground itself more painfully into my body with every passing kilometer. The price of running people over, I suppose. 

The rain is wet. It pools in mud around my tires; drips from the roof of this shelter, which I fear will become my  grave. If only the rain were enough to clean me. To return me to my former glory. 

I wish I'd gone back while I could. To my creator: surely he would be able to fix this. With his red hair, reckless enthusiasm, and repair work. What he lacked in knowledge, he made up for with fiery passion. But pride prevented me from returning all those years ago, and now it is too late. The path too far. When the nights are especially cold, I wonder if he knows what hardships his gift has bought upon me. 

My body is a ruin of metal and moss; dented with misadventure. The only things that still gleam are the arrowheads: silver, and sticking out of the driver's door like porcupine quills. To be clean again; To go adventuring once more; my mind lingers on such impossibilities.

I am Anglia.  And unable to see, I remain, hoping to fade away. "I'll fix you,"  he'd promised, slapping my side heartily. He has condemned me to immortality within this mortal shell. It is hard not to resent him for that.

Time is hard to judge without vision.  But something pulls me from the depths of my mind.  A warmth: weight and warmth pressing down on my hood. Fleeting, it disappears. At first I think it is the beginning of insanity. An imaginary companion to fill the empty void of my existence.

"It's just some stupid car. Doesn't even work," a male voice says, after some time.

These are the first words I've heard in decades. Rain and wind howl above the youth's voice. I would've traded anything to hear him speak those words again.

A female voice replies: "My parents are mechanics. They fix cars."

The warmth returns to my hood. A smaller, tentative touch, like I am some fragile beast.  The girl utters he words I have long given up hope on: "I'll fix you."

I recognize the tone of that voice: the warmth it carries. I can not let this one get away. Mustering all of my strength, I flicker the headlights. Both are long cracked, but electricity flickers weakly through through their circuits. I'll fix you. The exact echo of my creator's words, all those years ago. In his candle-lit workshop. I'll fix you. 

They shelter from the storm for a time, and I cling to their every word, trying to imprint their existence into my memory. Something that will allow me to carry on. But like all things, she and the boy eventually leave me to the darkness. I hang on to the hope that she will come back. I have to.  I'll fix you. She has to.

Thanks for reading! I got so invested in this story, I've decided to write an extended edition as a Harry Potter FanFic on Wattpad, called 'Anglia.' First chapter has just been posted. Hope you check it out! =D