Who are you? Who is he? Who am I?
He didn’t know. His body, replaced in all its parts to his requirements, full of silicon made, useful for picking up hot things and various cooking implements that have only now been invented due to the advances of material science. Also, the nose job, bigger muscles, bendy bones, sharpness of the cheeky bones and fry proof fingers and un-meltable ears. Microwave proof and UV resistant.
With each part and parcel in exchange, with each procedure, a little section of the image that he retained in his mind was degraded, became blurrier, like in the rain softened, focused lost, diffused. Portions of a photo torn away by a distressed teenager.
Constance lifted the Crash Test Body from the floor, where they had collapsed during the terrifying Dragon Drone attack incident.
Let us all calm down and rest a while beneath this great tree, she ventured, where the next Dragon Drone cannot discover. Tell me, oh man with an indistinct outline, who has saved us from certain incineration by aggressive drone, how have you come to be you?
Well, said the Silicon Man, bending at the waist till his head touched the ground, I think that I was once a man full and clear. But I embarked upon a course of replacement and improvement which I have come to regret. Upon the upgrade of each piece, I seem to have lost a corresponding piece that once made me, me. So now I have lost an image of myself which is necessary to carry on, to move forwards in the world. Like Triggers Broom, I am myself, but I am changed in all significant parts. Worst but not least, I have lost my memory and cannot return. The reference is lost, the model dispersed.
That is a sorry tale, said the CTB, I shall write a sonnet about that any moment now.
And why, pray, did you deliver us from certain crispy endings? asked Constance,
I have become an out-board meteor, said the Silicon one, no community can allow. That I have become the champion of all beings done to and under cats, no, I mean dogs. You know what I mean. So that when I saw the Dragon Drone upon an attack run, my course was clear, and I must prevent outright aggression at all costs. That is why I am wearing the Kilt of the Free and the T shirt of Oppression.
I’m glad you did, and I thank you sincerely, said Constance, taking the rubbery hand in her own, with all the wobbly silicon fingers, and shaking it in comfort.
I shall write a sonnet, with verses, about your bravery, said the CTB. Not now, said Constance, we are in discussion.
We, and here Constance gestured to the CTB, are travelling to the Great City of Az to acquire and install some visual abilities for my friend, the Crash Test Body. If it please you, and in returning your kindness, we may also find there a new memory for and of yourself, thusly to re-imagine yourself, that you may move forwards in confidence and focus.
There is in the City of Az some fine scientific minds which are puissant in energy and innovation.
And I can write…, started the CTB, Shut up, said Constance.
I shall take your offer and double it, said the Silicon Man. Let us move forwards to the future together, in tandem of three.
That is a fine sentiment, muttered the CTB, I wish I had penned it in a lymerick.
The three, Constance riding her mighty horse in full armour, her entourage and squires, her baggage train and supply wagons. The Crash Test Body, holding fast the stirrup of to guide, and the Silicon Man, walking on bendy legs, wandering from one side to the next.
In time, the forest had become extremely darkened, and the colourful pathway wandered first and then that, disordering the senses and sewing clothes of doubt.
Are we lost? Asked the CTB, would a sonnet help? We are uncertain, said Constance, that is the truth, but not lost. And no, a sonnet would not assist us at this juncture. Look yonder in the tree sits an Owl who is proverbially and perennially wise. Let us enquire the road direction that we must pursue, toward Az the City of. There is little doubt that the wisdom retained in this owl will guide us.
They came by the great Owl, looking down. Can you direct us? asked Constance, looking up. To be perfectly honest, said the Owl, I could direct you, but who knows where you would end, as I have absolutely no idea about anything. A fifty fifty chance would be a result.
I had been led to believe that Owls are universally knowledgeable and wise, said Constance. Are you not an Wise Owl?
Thereby hangs a tale, said the Owl, Prehensile, like a south american monkey.
I am the exception that proves the rule, said the Owl, where there should be wisdom is folly; knowledge, conjecture; fact, fiction; reality, conspiracy theory; order, chaos. I sometimes feel about as useful as a bicycle with no handlebars or wheels or a seat or a frame or brakes. It is a tragedy.
Perhaps a sonnet or epic poem? suggested the CTB. I think not, said Constance, This Owl is suffering and in need.
The Guardians of the Cave 