I Watched X So You Don’t Have To Solo Closed

──────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Summer Vacation, First week

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────

At precisely Eight in the night, Prat; a pureblood and staunch advocate of rationality was now seated alone in his Aunt Melissa's muggle living room, preparing to watch what they called "a film" about cars. That were, according to her, apparently alive.

He didn't know why he did this to himself. Perhaps it was his own curiosity that was his own doom. Maybe it was the way his aunt had patted him on the head and said "You've gotten too serious darling. Watch something fun. Loosen up."

So there he was, Dressed in his neat house slippers, a cashmere thrown over his legs and a plate of bread to his right, with a cup of mint tea to his left. All in preparation to loosen up.

He pressed play.

Just within thirty seconds of the movie, his nightmare began.

The cars spoke.

Not a grumble or a beep but fully articulated sentences with smug inflections and dramatic pauses. Their windscreens lit up with expressive eyes and their tongues rolled out. THEIR TOUNGES.

He squinted at the sight. "It has a tongue." Why would a car need a tongue? Who designed this? Who looked at a vehicle and thought, "Yes, you know what cars are missing? Flesh."

Lightning McQueen was his name, a racecar with teeth and personalities. It zoomed across the screen at 200 mph while talking to itself.

Talking while driving was already a hazard, second of all, Why was this car talking to itself? Did this imply the cars being born with languages? Were they born?

As the movie progressed, the question in his mind only stacked.

There were stadiums full of cheering cars, waving flags. Helicopters filmed the race. Even the reporters and interviewers were all vehicles. A truck rolled up to take McQueen to his next stop. Was this the car equivalent of a small human sitting inside a bigger human??

"Right," Prat muttered, pulling the throw tighter around himself. "So who built these camera equipment? Who prints the newspapers and who designs whatever the microphore things are? Did tiny camera-cars exist?"

It continued getting worse.

Lightning got stranded in a forgotten desert town, Radiator Springs, which was full of sentient, culturally nuanced and emotionally expressive cars.

Prat's mind was beginning to unravel faster than thread on a loose kite now.

"These buildings," he questioned himself. "These buildings, why do they have stairs? Railings and DOORS. Who are the doors for?! The cars can't open doors or climb stairs, they exist inside buildings. Did they build these towns with tyres? Could they use wands? Is vehicular telekinesis happening that no one is acknowledging??"

He clutched his tea and stared at the screen. His reflection in the screen began to look slightly deranged.

Mater, the tow truck arrived and was introduced via an extended joke about his fucked up teeth.

The idea of cars needing dental care deeply disturbed him. This would mean they ate and drank. They had a bar! Who invented car alcohol?? Who's regulating it and what happens if a car drinks too much? Do they get liver damage? Do cars even have livers?

The questions were coming even faster now.

An one point Lightning went tractor tipping with Mater, which was just casual livestock harassment. His voice cracked by the time he finished with his questions for the frame.

Then the romance subplot emerged.

Lightning met a sleek, blue car. There was flirtation. Eye contact. Background music.

"NO," Prat said aloud. "No, no. I refuse to believes in cars falling in love. What do they do to express love? Exchange exhaust fumes romantically?"

He paused the film. Stared at the screen, staring back at his own soul.

He questioned who raised the baby cars, were there orphanages? Was there a school system? Did these cars learn math? Could some of these be illiterate?

He resumed the movie. He couldn't stop now, he had to see it all the way through.

There was a flashback montage. The old Hudson Hornet; Lightning's to be mentor was shown racing in his prime, later abandoned. The implication seemed to be emotional burnout, Depression.

"Depresso cars," Prat muttered. "We have depressed cars. Do they feel existential dread? what was their purpose? Who made them? did they evolve? Is there an entire missing religion they're not mentioning because it could prove the existence of a car god?!"

The final race began. A triumphant orchestral score rose in the background as Lightning sped forward, no longer selfish, now noble and righteous.

He gave up the win to help another car.

And Prat, gods help him, felt something.

He hated it half as much as he liked it.

As the credits rolled, Prat leaned back. His hair was disheveled. His throw blanket had fell to the floor and his tea had gone cold.

He noted down in his records, "There was a Popemobile in the crowd. There is car religion and there are car priests."

The screen turned black as he sat in stunned silence.

And then, like a man crawling out of deep trance, he stood up. Slowly, mechanically and walked to television. Ejecting the disc like it was cursed.

"She can never know I watched this. No one can."

Walking to the kitchen, after he slid the DVD back in its rightful slot and washed his hands.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────────