I was a bright cherry red before the many rains gradually, stealthily marred and rusted my beauty. The craters that once contained my black burning rubber tires now are home to shrubs and ferns instead, entombing me where I sit. My engine that once exploded with vigor, roaring as it sent me ripping down the road, spitting noxious fumes, now lays still and near silent with the faint chirping of hatchlings living in it drowning out my sobbing. My seats that once held passengers screaming along to a song blasting on my radio, now gutted and unusable, infested by parasitic creatures selfishly stashing food. I have been ravaged by the invisible and patient hand of time. My former glory and vitality cracked and dented and rusted away, leaving me a husk; a shell of myself, imprisoned within the scrap-metal cage that is my body. My cries, my desperate, ravenous hunger to fly just once more, all of it falls upon the deaf ears of the forest. I will stay as I am for the rest of time. I have been reduced to the setting of another story rather than the protagonist of my own.