I remember this much clearly: When my package arrived, rain was ferociously battering the earth, which was always a rare sight in the normally sunny city of Las Vegas, Nevada. No sun was visible through the thick and somewhat eerie covering of clouds. The package was sitting there, just waiting, and I grabbed the now slightly damped package off my doorstep. I dashed inside to open it.
The Thinking Putty was a dark, mysterious black, not the Strange Attractor black, just the regular. That day consisted of conducting experiments on my putty. I put a bit in the freezer, a tad in the microwave, a drop in the oven, and a little piece in a pot of boiling water. I tested its malleability and ductillity, the whole shebang. At the time, the results excited me rather than frightening me. It appeared that the Thinking Putty was completely invulnerable. After an enjoyable day, I put the putty into it’s tin to rest and put it on my desk, then slipped off to my own bed, where I slept a blissful, dreamless sleep.
I woke up to a loud BANG sound, surprising me to the point of rolling over and off my bed. After recovering I looked upward and toward the clock. 11:43, it read. I stumbled around in the dark, searching for the light switch. When I finally succeeded, the unnatural yellow light of a light bulb swam through the room. After a quick look around my room, I found the culprit of the loud sound.
My putty tin was lying, open, on the floor next to my bed. The putty was not inside the tin, nor next to it. The only other place it could be was under my bed. “It’s gonna get all dirty,” I muttered sadly as I dropped to my knees. I had a flashlight at the entrance to the dark cave just for any occasion I had to go exploring under there. Sure enough, there it was, laying a few inches away. I reached forward, and it rolled backwards. I blinked, sure my eyes were deceiving me, that I was taking part in some sort of strange waking dream. I reached toward it again. It quickly streched out and pulled itself onto the underside of my bed. I recoiled out of shock. I quickly pulled my head out from under the bed, and sat there thinking of what to do next. I pinched myself for obvious reasons. Eventually, curiosity got the best of me. Against my better judgement, I slipped back under the bed. It was exactly where I left it, aside from starting to drip down. Crazy as it may seem, I called out to it. “Hello?” At the sound of my voice, it started to crawl ( it was more like ooze) toward me. It was curious about me, too, I mused. When it finally touched my finger, a shiver ran through my spine. It streched onto my palm, then rolled itself into a ball.
Now sitting at my desk, I stared at it thoughtfully. It looked no different. It was quietly rolling, stretching and sliding over the suraface of my workspace. Even though I believed I was still in a slight state of shock, I couldn’t help but smile. It stopped and moved toward me. Three little indentations appeared on his face. Two eyes and a mouth. It was then that I realized that my Thinking Putty was alive, and it was smiling at me.
From that day, I went nowhere without my little blob. To school, to sporting events, to doctors’ offices, it was with me everywhere. It was like having a little pet. I also believe that my cats, (the only other living things that had actually seen it move), were jealous!
I have to admit, the question of whether or not it was alive when I performed all of the experiments had crossed my mind from time to time. In fact, it still does.
The last day I spent with my putty pet/friend was a gruellingly hot day, most definitely in the summer. My family and I had took a drive, and we were spending the day hanging around the Hoover Dam. My family was taking pictures of each other and anything that caught their interest, very much like tourists indeed, while I was looking over the dam toward the water below. The water was almost nausiating to look at, you could place sure-fire bets on it’s pollution. I was deep in though, my putty rolling along on the side of the dam, which I was leaning against. It was making the little chirping noises that it somehow was able to create, signaling its need for attention. I ignored it, staring at the waters below. When I finally did look over, it was too late. The putty was on the edge, teetering back and forth. Before I could grab it, my little friend fell down, down, down, until it hit the lake. “No!” I had screamed. I leaned over the edge myself, arm still extended for it, but it was undeniably to late. It was many months until I saw it again.
It was now December, chilly out, but not quite cold enough for snow. Over the last few months, my sorrow had shrunken, the putty now practically the furthest thing from my mind. Life had simply gone on. Everything was back to how they had been before my obsession. Well, sometimes it appears my cats were gloating and basking in all the attention they now got from me. I didn’t dare buy any more putty, or even look at the Putty World website. I was putting dishes away when a deafening roar shattered the silence of the afternoon and a tremendous quake shook me off my feet. The plate shattered and tore up my hand much more than I would like to admit, but that was the furthest thing from my mind. We were never taught earthquake safety in my school, but I had read a book not long ago that described what someone did in one. It was a fiction book, but I took my chances. I didn’t stand up; instead I stayed down and attempted to crawl toward the front door. Glass broke and things fell all around me, but I made it to the door unscathed.
At first I saw nothing. It was only a matter of seconds before I first saw the murky wave. It was a titanic sized tidal wave, ripping through the opening of the valley miles away, coming from Arizona and the Hoover Dam. It became immediately apparent what had happened. The dam had broke. “What could have broken the dam?” I thought to my self. I was paralyzed with fear. That was when I saw it. A huge humanoid-esque blob of inky blackness came out of the canyon and into my view. I recognized it immediately, although how it could have gotten as big as it had was beyond me. I sat down in the middle of the street, just staring at it. Its head turned rapidly, scouring the entire city. I realized, sickeningly, that it was looking for me. I thought: “I might have to make a complaint to Crazy Aaron,” and then the wave hit, the Thinking Putty still advancing.
TO BE CONTINUED.