Daily Prompt: The Cat Says Meow

You know, I get a pretty tough deal out of life.

I am ageless, the one thing that has a life spanning centuries. Over the years I get painted and remodelled, lines fading away with wear and tear.

I am the road, and this is my life.

I began very humbly, a strip of stone paving on which humans could walk. I functioned quite well, allowing people to walk side-by-side or single file, depending on their occasion. The next things I knew were the developments of transport.

I have seen horse-drawn carriages, and then the evolution of the car. I remember a time when the car was a thing for a select few who could afford it, and I remember bicycles coming into fashion. Oh, all the odd types of bicycle. If one didn’t know better, they might think bicycles had mysteriously sprung into being – indeed, they went through their own phase of evolution.

Over time the humans began to change my function, adding smart lines of paint – the first time, I couldn’t help but relish in the hot sun and feel extra special with the paint. It meant the humans hadn’t forgotten me. I pitied the planes which flew in the sky: there could be no modifications made to the sky, to change the journey for the traveler.

Later, I was offended when the humans began changing my structure and appearance. There was nonsense about how I could become dangerous to travel upon, something which puzzled me. I was consistent, I was always the same – how could I be dangerous? Eventually it occurred to me that when it rained, my surface became slick and raised the potential for car accidents.

I couldn’t do anything, so I went along with the changes without a murmur of protest.

Today, I get to watch as people of all kinds travel. It’s nice, knowing I’m such a vital part of transport. Without me, people would have to take overpriced ferries or figure out teleporting. I see all kinds of interesting things: a busload of people, commuting to work or places of study. I see selfish humans who take one car for one person, and I see heavy trucks rumbling along the way. I get maintenance, and don’t even have to pay for it.

It’s not all good, of course. Some days there will be a number of trucks passing the same area, which can be painful. Humans still walk over me, and my cousin Tarmac welcomes and farewells planes. Sometimes I feel that the humans could be a little kinder to me; after all, I do play the biggest part of their transport needs.

I get to look forward to what else the humans will develop to improve me. No-one’s perfect, after all.

I am the road, and this is my life.



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