The Sticky Man.

There was a man, strangely enough a man made of sticks. Not sticks like you may be thinking but simply, things that stick. His face was tape and his shoes were glue. He was covered in the adhesive from the bottom of band-aids and his hair was comprised of those stretchy novelty toys that you could through while holding onto one end and the other would fix to things. He was originally 6 feet tall but the path he walked was one of dirt and rock which would join onto him so he was now around 6 feet 5 inches.

He could not shake hands or hug or touch anyone. He knew the hugs wouldn’t be worth it as the happiness they brought would be eclipsed by the pain of when they pulled apart. This made him bitter, which was very odd because bitter things didn’t usually stick. He had a brilliant memory, anything he read or he had heard seemed to...for a lack of a better word...Stick.

His memories of his harshly lonely existence soon spread from his sad mind to his heart which at one point had been sweet. The bitterness spread like an abstract cancer across his ribs and limbs. While out for his usual walk one morning one of his ribs fell loose and was lodged between his honey bee-hive liver and his fruit salad kidneys. He continued, ignorant of the sudden loss of protection when he saw a beautiful woman headed in the opposite direction of him. He had never seen her before because if he had, he would have certainly remembered. In her hurry to reach her own destination she bumped the sticky man causing his bitter heart to detach from its holdings and fall between the space created by the lost rib. His heart landed in the open bag of the woman and was quickly buried beneath useless papers. In the shuffle of getting unstuck and amongst the many apologies he uttered he had not noticed what had happened.

When he returned home he felt as if something was missing. For some strange reason he felt attached to this woman he had barely met. From experience he knew he could never be with but he was compelled to at least have a name to go with the image he had burned into his mind. For days after he waited in the same spot he had bumped into the mystery woman with the intention of sharing all he felt; but every time she approached his bitter tongue filled with such sweet things to say that it became stuck to the roof of his mouth and he said nothing. As she left the sweetness retreated and he was finally able to articulate. “Damn it!” He shouted. “I must overcome this. I must tell this woman that my heart belongs to her.”



It's a bit long but I suppose if you have gotten far enough to read this the length didn't matter now did it?