The Iron Man. By Aimee (Creative Writing)

The Iron Man came on a natural Friday afternoon,
How did he get here? Nobody knows.
Who was he? Nobody knows.
Why was he here? Nobody knows.
Does he have a friend walking with him? Nobody knows.
Why am I asking all these questions? Even I don’t know.
The Iron Man sat at the top of a mountain. Gazing, scanning the land for any sign of blue, splashing waves. His legs stretched a massive distance. His arms were shaped like rulers but they were as long as the rolling fields. His eyes were like enormous cups and his head as round as a bouncy ball. The Iron Man was exhausted. But just as he was resting he saw a simmering glimpse of a blanket of blue. He lifted his metal arm pointed to the sea. Too far of a distance he thought. The blazing, burning sun reflecting on his iron head. He could imagine the wind rippling against the cool water, and the sand drifting and splitting across the sunny beach. The wind sang through his iron fingers, he slowly got up prepared and ready for the journey he was going to take.