Screw

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’re straightforward, I’m not.
They have no twists and turns, I do. They’re easy
going, I’m not.  Just hit a nail on the head and it
obediently does its job, I don’t. You can easily
straighten a crooked nail with a hammer and it works
as good as new but hit me like that and you’ll see
what happens. I get even more crooked.

The first time I was put into a good use, I failed
miserably. The carpenter, who randomly picked me
out of the box full of screws, couldn’t drive me
through the wooden door frame because I was
slightly crooked and my head was stripped. His hand
slipped and I made him bleed so he tossed me on
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 thing is that, every time I’m
rejected and thrown out, I land right on my head
pondering who I am and why I am and since I can’t
figure that out I start counting my 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 sitting on my head I can easily get
stuck into the sole of a shoe and remain there
unnoticed for a long time and do what I do best,
damage anything I come in contact with. I’ve
scratched so many shiny floors and torn so many
more exquisite handmade rugs in my life, all
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, Oh! What a disaster. One of
the traffic crash investigators after weeks of analysis
finally discovered me.

“Aha! here it is. One crooked screw with stripped
head. Can you believe it, one insignificant twisted
piece of metal create such a horrific tragedy 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 get
discarded. I had no more use, as I’d 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
a couple of beers he pulled 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. Sure enough, he missed the target
and once again I landed right on my head
inconspicuously engraved in the shaggy carpet of
his living room.  An hour later, his little girl stepped
on me and suddenly blood gushed from her foot and
stained the entire carpet. Her parents rushed to help
their love one but I’d already spread my poison into
her gentle 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 injections
prevent the infection. This is one dirty piece of scrap
metal.”

The white robed doctor walked to the trashcan and
carefully dropped me in. I was properly discarded so
he thought. But I survived this chain of events even
more crooked than before and when my head
stained with an innocent blood hit the bottom of that
empty metallic can I created a mesmerizing sound, a
divine music reverberated in emptiness.  A melody I
wish I could compose every time I was rejected. I sat
alone in my steel barricaded prison waiting to see
what the destiny had planned for me next.

That night the janitor emptied me into the dumpster
outside where I spent a few days and in the course
of that sojourn and before the garbage truck came
to take the refuse to the landfill my trance turned
into reality as I became aware of an exotic power in
me. I was now irresistible to crooked staples, bent
nails, broken pins and thumbtacks. They clung to me
as the worshipers do to the shrines. I’d morphed into
a porcupine with sharp spines; metallic thorns
erected out of my body, a jagged edged creature I’d
became.  As razor-sharp as I was, I managed to tear
the plastic trash bag and slipped through the bottom
crack of the garbage truck and fell right back into
the streets more crooked and more destructive than
ever.

I’ve changed so much that I can’t recognize myself
anymore. I carry a range of fatal diseases as I’ve
lurked in the most contaminated corners of the
society. When I sting it hurts but 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 pierce their flesh and penetrate into their core
when they least expect it. And when I do, I become a
part of their soul and I feel their pain and I suffer with
my victims until I’m 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’m sitting on my head alone
contemplating whom I’m going to hurt next.