Screw

A 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.