[ WP ] The rusted , mechanical switch sat on the table of the abandoned , run-down log cabin located , deep in the Allegheny Forest . A crude message was carved into the table with an arrow pointing to the switch , `` Do n't '' .

On that brisk spring evening when I pulled the lever, I still had my limbs intact. My real ones, I mean. Whatever flesh was once there is now covered up, melted away, indistinguishable from this beast I've become. 
 
 I used to make my living chopping down wood and selling it to passersby, wanderers like me. The difference is, those people always had a destination. 
 
 I came across the cabin after an especially grueling day, with no sales to boot. I yanked open the door as if by instinct and sighed with relief. No open fire, no clothes hanging out to dry. It was sturdy but aged, had a nice kitchen area, and -- thank God -- a bed. 
 
 The only thing out of the ordinary was the rusted metal lever. Drawn to it -- entranced by it -- I made my way to the kitchen table, where it rest squarely in the center. 
 
 I had to do it. I had to. There was no doubt in my mind; in fact, no thought process whatsoever. With just one swift yank, one foolish mistake, my life as a human being came to an end. 
 
 The room filled with a pale haze, somewhere between blue and green in color. I gagged and fell to the ground, watching in horror as an enormous floating ball materialized before me. It was silver, shiny, and seemingly alive. Before I could make another move, it was separating itself into segments, shaped like every part of the body -- arms, legs, torso. Each piece rotated rapidly in the air before speeding towards me and sealing itself to my skin. I can still feel the burn, the unbearable heat as the pieces became me and I became the pieces. Somewhere in the distance, I swear I heard a faint cackle, but that's the last thing I remember before passing out. 
 
 When I came to, I had trouble lifting myself from the ground. When I gazed at my metallic fingers, I let out a scream that surely would have woken the neighbors if I was anywhere near civilization. I tried to cry but could n't conjure up the tears. 
 
 For the next several days, I tried to go about business as usual, pretending I was n't a freak of nature. Moving my limbs was unbearably difficult, and I could barely conjure the strength to chop just one tree. There was a single, solitary oil can in the kitchen cupboard, disgustingly old but somewhat effective. After a few short days it was nearly empty and I could feel the stiffness beckoning. 
 
 I was beginning to reach my breaking point, but could n't bear to think of anyone facing the same fate as me. One afternoon I took a stick, sharpened it with the little dexterity I still had, and carved `` DO N'T'' into the table, along with an arrow pointing to the lever. 
 
 By the time the first thunderstorm came, I was through. There was no point in trying anymore. I stood in a thicket of trees, placed my oil can next to me, and let the raindrops pour down my face, pretending they were tears. The rust came swiftly after that, and I wondered how long it would take me to starve. 
 
 Hours went by. Just when I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard the clip-clop of heels on brick -- a figure approaching from the dense sea of branches. I tried to scream but all that came out of my rusted mouth was a series of panicked mumbles. 
 
 The figure turned out to be a young girl in a blue plaid dress, followed by a man in some sort of scarecrow getup. I've learned not to ask questions. At first, she looked terrified, but then she grabbed the oil can and began to squirt the last of it on me. 
 
 I gasped as I licked the petroleum droplets from my lips. 
 
 `` My dear, I have no words to express my thanks to you. What's your name?'' 
 
 She smiled at me and adjusted the basket on her arm. `` I'm Dorothy.'' 
 
 `` Well, Dorothy, judging by the speed with which you skipped through, you look like you've got a destination in mind.'' 
 
 She nodded and began to explain the nature of her quest. As she did so, I grinned for what felt like the first time in years. 
 
 `` I'll follow you two anywhere,'' I said, nodding towards her and scarecrow-man. As we headed down the road, I felt as though I had a real shot this time -- a shot at finding a place to call home.
