A screw, a defective one, that’s what I am. Pay attention! I’m not a nail. Nails are flat head with no character I say. They are straightforward. I’m not. They have no twists and turns, I do. They are easy going. I’m not. Just hit a nail on the head and it obediently does its job, I don’t. You can straighten a crooked nail with a hammer and it works as good as new and if you hit me, I get even more crooked.
The first time I was put into a good use, I failed miserably. The carpenter, who picked me out randomly from the box full of screws, could not drive me through the wood because I was slightly crooked and my head was stripped. His hand slipped and I made him bleed. So he tossed me to the ground cursing me under his breath.
That was my first human contact and when I realized who I was. His blood stained my soul forever and I carried his suffering on my conscience, metaphorically speaking of course. Remember, screws don’t have consciousness.
I’m all messed up, a loose screw with a stripped head. And the funny part is that, every time I’m rejected and thrown out, I land on my head, then sit on my head silently pondering who I am and why I am and count my own twists and turns.
Let’s go back to our story as this is not about morality, it’s about a loose screw.
Since I always land on my head, I can effortlessly get stuck into the sole of a shoe and remain there unnoticed for a long time. Then I do what I do best, damage anything I came in contact with. I have scratched so many shiny floors and torn so many hand woven expensive rugs in my life unintentionally I may add.
One day I was sitting alone on the roadside minding my own business when a speeding car ran me over. I had no choice but to penetrate its tire and cause a catastrophic accident. The investigator analyzed the cause of the crash and found me.
“Oh, here it is. One crooked screw with stripped head. Can you believe it, one insignificant twisted piece of metal create a disaster and hurt so many?” The investigator shouted while holding me by the head.
He took several pictures of me from every angle for his report and once again it was time for me to be discarded. I had no more use, as I had served my purpose. But instead of throwing my out, the wise investigator put me in his pocket and took me home to show me to his children and teach them a lesson.
That night after dinner and when he was cozily sitting in his favorite chair light headed after drinking his beers he took me out of his pocket and held me between his forefinger and thumb and paraded me before the anxious eyes of his family members and lectured them on the subject of prudence. After making his point, he pitched me in the wastebasket contemptuously. Sure enough, he missed the target and once again I landed right on my head in his living room. An hour later, his little girl stepped on me and suddenly blood gushed from her foot and stained their carpet. The parents rushed to help their love one but I had already spread my poison into her poor soul. The doctor in the hospital removed me from the little girl’s foot and held me so close to his eyes as he said to her parents, ”I hope the injections prevent the infection. This is one dirty piece of scrap metal.”
I came out of this incident even more crooked than before. The doctor walked to the trashcan and carefully dropped me in. I was properly discarded so he thought. When I hit the bottom of the empty metallic can with my head covered by the innocent blood, I created a beautiful musical sound, a divine melody. A melody I wish I could compose every time I was rejected.
Now I was sitting there alone waiting to see what the destiny had planned for me next.
That night, I was emptied into the dumpster and a few days later, I was in the garbage truck and on the way to the landfill. It was then when I had my first dream. I became aware of an overwhelming and exotic power in me. I was irresistible to little crooked staples. They clung to me as the worshipers do in the shrines. I had morphed into a piece of metal with so many thorns sticking out of my body, a jagged edged creature. As razor-sharp as I was, I managed to pierce the soft plastic trash bag and slipped through the bottom crack of the garbage truck and fell right back into the streets again, more crooked and more destructive than ever. I have changed so much I couldn’t recognize myself anymore.
I carry many diseases as I have been in the most unsanitary parts of the society. And when I sting it hurts. The initial pain is nothing compared to the suffering bound to happen later. I spread the virus into my victim’s entire being. Yes, I sink right into their flesh when they least expect it. And when I do, I become a part of their soul and I feel their pain and suffer with my victims until I am removed and thrown away.
Maybe I was meant to be this way, armed with so many sharp edges enforced with lethal venom. Once again I am sitting alone on my head thinking whom am I going to hurt next.
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