An Imperfect Entity

He's one of a kind, lonely and he's a predator.

The Imperfect Entity

Cymbolo loved to stroll through the parks in the day time. There were nineteen large parks in the city's Park Board district, four with swimming pools. He had to be very careful. He wore the uniform of a park worker he killed for food about three months ago. He had to lay low until the authorities gave up finding the critter that killed the man. He smiled to himself when he thought of them, poking around in the high grass, peeking into small caves, using the 'grid method.' The entire time, he rested high in tops of trees, hunkered down until he was invisible under the leaves. The heliocopters did not spy him either. He had taken off the uniform and turned himself into the color of the trees.

Cymbolo wasn't human or couldn't imagine that he was. He looked like no creature of this world that he had ever seen, except for his face which would pass for a young man's face if he controlled the hair growth on his chin. He believed he was created in a test tube aboard a ship. The ship crashed, and only he survived. He had no idea where he came from or whose or whats DNA was used to make him. He didn't know why he was created. He had been placed in suspended animation at some point during his journey to earth. He knew he was one of a kind, and it made him feel very lonely.

He had vague memories of being cared for by tender hands, hands with long slim fingers without fingernails. Someone brushed his long hair when he was a baby or at least he thought he had been a baby. Maybe he was born this size. Who knew? The only reading material he could find on the ship were like cookbooks. He had always been able to read, any language, any script. The rest of the books had burned to ashes. All the computers burned. So did all the other occupants. The chamber that kept him in suspension saved him. Fortunately, it was set to open upon sudden impact. He had crawled out, eventually, when the fires died down and the food ran out. The ship had slipped underwater, and he swam to the surface. It was nighttime, and there was a full moon. Just one. That seemed strange.

Cymbolo's eyes were almond-shaped but slanted. They were the bluest of blue, quite startling really. Thin, nicely-shaped brows were above the eyes. His facial skin was smooth except for his chin which grew snow-white hair to match that on his head where it was very long and wavy. He wrapped it around his hand until he had a swatch, and placed it under the uniform cap when he went park strolling. Otherwise, he had the ability to change his skin at will. Thin, thick, soft, rough, whatever was needed was how he formed it. He was never sick; he self healed. He probably could be burned up, blown apart by a bomb or crushed, but he would be difficult to kill.

His body was thin and what humans would call 'wiry' when he wanted it to be. He had more body folds than humans and could twist himself into something quite small if necessary. His genitals were much bigger than humans. Fortunately, he had no desire to mate -- with anyone or anything. He was made without lustful thoughts. No one knows if he could mate; he never had the opportunity or desire. No one knows if he has testosterone. He did not kill except to feed. Killing gave him no special pleasure. He didn't have a preference in meat. Man, woman, child, any color, any size would do. He needed about five lbs. of meat a day plus some grains, vegetables and fruit, all available here in Modesto, California. And, of course, he needed water, also plentiful here.

What pleasured him most was watching the humans play in the park. There were many games and activities, but he loved football. He would put on the complete uniform that he stole from the players shower room, with the numbers removed, and sit in the back of the bleachers and watch. He would stash the uniform under the bleacher when he didn't need it anymore.

When the ball was passed to another player, and he ran like the wind, it was all Cymbolo could do not to run for it himself. Month after month, he watched, until it got so cold he could not stay so long. Then he lived in an old cave through the winter, turning himself into a creature with five layers of skin to keep him warm. His creators had thought of most everything except he had not one friend in the world.

After several summers, Cymbolo grew braver and ventured out more often. One day, he visited the park again. Sure enough, a football game was in play. He looked for his uniform but it was gone. Someone had found it. He turned himself brown and clung to the underside of the bleacher and watched the game.

Suddenly, the highest pass he ever saw was made. It was coming his way. Before Cymbolo thought it through, he changed to his normal size and ran out into the field, his white hair flowing behind him. He jumped! He caught the ball as he sprung in midair. With the ball in his teeth, he dropped to all fours and ran and ran. He made the touchdoen. At first, the crowd roared, and his heart swelled with pride. They liked him! After a while, the cheering stopped. He noticed men in police uniforms coming toward him. He thought quickly. His only choice was to go up, up in the air. He changed himself into a bird-like creature and flew high in the air as the bullets flew. Everyone in the park was stunned, and so was he. He had never had to fly before and was amazed that he could.

Cymbolo was the perfect entity. He was brilliant intellectually, but he was a predator. He would always be alone. Or so he thought. When he was airborne, he gave himself wings to improve his flying skills. . He looked a lot like the eagle but hairier. The other birds did not fear him or judge him. He began spending most of his time in the air with the birds. There were no lack of places for him to light down and get food, but he was always in a hurry to return to the sky. In bird speak, they would yell, 'welcome back Cymbolo. Come visit. We have two eggs ready to hatch.' Cymbolo often helped keep the nests warm for his friends. He could radiate just the right amount of heat. The birds were very appreciative of his talents. He helped them gather food for their young.

Cymbolo finally had found a home and wasn't lonely anymore. He would have liked someone like himself to be around sometimes, just to chat with, but he was a realist. There was no one like him.

The End

Word Count: 1070

© Copyright 2008 Charles the *C*