I am from earth and I have been carefully developed to travel. Extirpated from rocks, each of my parts is a fraction of me and everything ; while I am one object, at the end of this process which I will tell you about, my background is extremely varied. My core is made of lead from Nevada, my skin is of Bolivian copper and my guts are from various parts which now escape me; there is a curiosity, within me, as to finding out about what makes up my guts, but the only thing I now know is that it was first formulated in Asia and then spread all over the world… Anyway, my conception was rather violent and it involved various stages, all connected by conveyor belts, trucks, furnaces, casts, more belts, boxes, and hands. I am to fit into a chamber, then travel from that chamber to some mark or object. These things I know, but the details are so obscure I barely have any idea where to begin to look for answers; yet, since I am a simple being, I leave these inquiries to those who feel compelled to search and study the nature of those troubling questions of existence which could consume the best of us.
Of course! You might ask: how do you know about some parts and not of others that make you?! Well, I tell you, the details…I am trying to put together in the darkness of the aftermath… within a box. I am just waiting…I don’t know what for, but I am waiting within this comfortable, dry, cool box which offers the company of others like me and theyhave informed me of some of these former details; now, I am forced to trust their information since they are my only company, but these “facts” could, perhaps, be proven otherwise…I will just tell my side of this story, ok? This is the only way I have to make some sense of me and everything around me. Most of what is “me” was heated to extremely high temperatures, and dragged by the truckload into huge vats to be melted together; then molded into blocks of differing qualities, placed, arranged, and stored to ensure the proper usage of me. The conveyor belts are our feet from the moment I left the rocks. I think I am among others and we see the world passing by and we just sit there trying to make sense of things, but BANG! We are suddenly changed from one thing to another without us ever being able to do anything about it. I was to be nurtured by something which went by the name of Winchester corporation, in Illinois; the truck dropped off most of what was to be my skin onto pallets, then forklifts placed these pallets in the appropriate shelves. I find it very suitable to be in the right place; order and categorization have made my life much more bearable. Bells, buzzers, chains, casts, sprays, bangs and much more distress later, I now possess a slick shape which is filled by lead, perfectly balanced in weight, and of somewhat seducing qualities…I like this! My form is one that is supposed to offer the least amount of resistance. I travel swiftly through most anything.
Now, the shelves were rather quiet, depending on the place of course, and we stood there silently. We were sometimes moved, these brief moments would make us rub against each other; startled by this and the clink that followed each tangent, we stood there nonetheless…silently. Stamped and shipped, we ended up in some store, on some street, at the best prices. Sold to some such Jorge, I felt that the brief transition to this new shelf was interesting; Jorge carried us mainly by hand at a smooth pace and we, again, came to a rest. I think he liked us, he put us in a cool and dark shelf for some time and it was just some more of quite the same stillness of thought.
One day, Jorge picked us up and placed us on a table. I think his dog was lazily walking around the same room; the table being close to the back door of the house gave us an opportunity to feel the warmth of the sun and we, maybe only I, became excited for some reason. Jorge’s son, Gabriel, was getting ready to go out as well; he was about 7 years old and wore blue jeans, yellow galoshes, and a third generation brown jacket that had seen countless mornings like this one. The backyard wore no fence, an open field into the flatness of the landscape. Trees in bunches scattered as tight, flower bouquets rising midway through the ground adorned the flat-lined horizon in random places.
They walked for some time, Gabriel thought of facturas (pastries) as his mind fell off the horizon and skirled on a heap of pastries of all kinds and chocolate milk…warm…sweet…
“Gabi! Por aca!,” Jorge yelled “Is this way!”
Gabriel tilted his head out of his dream and followed his father; he carried us in his small canvas bag with a knife and some matches. I was enjoying the smooth steps Gabriel took and the heat from the sun gradually became slightly warmer and I grew anxious with the peculiarity of this trip, it was much different than past jaunts. In the darkness of this box, the splattered memories of that day become clearer and the paces of that walk are felt closer. Jorge carried his favorite winchester rifle as any good arms man would: his hand fully covering the trigger guard, safety on, and the canon pointing down to the ground. He knew a good deal about weapons and hunting; this is why, I think, he bought us in the first place…we are the best. Gabriel walked to his side now, he did not say too much, if anything at all now that I recall. Jorge stopped, having spotted something, and said to Gabriel,
“give me the canvas bag, I will check these boys out before we try them out on our food”
Gabriel did just that and Jorge’s hand reached for a few of us in the box; his hands were sweaty and soft, his skin bent to our contour as he lightly pressed us into his rifle. “Ah, this feels right,” I thought, “I fit perfectly into this new place, this must be that “chamber” I was told about.”
Jorge had spotted a beam that was sticking out of the ground about 100 meter from his sight. He told Gabriel to walk back a few meters for his own safety and Gabriel nodded as he silently agreed with his father’s request. What a good boy he was.
Jorge placed the rifle firmly against his shoulder, looked around briefly, the proceeded to aim at the metal beam sticking out of the ground; he did not realize about my special relationship with metal…there was no predictability as to my trajectory when confronted with certain hard metals. Gabriel walked away from his father as his eyes perused through his surroundings and spotted a stork; white and graceful, the stork floated briskly through the milky air. Gabriel looked at its motionless wings in mid flight…I was pushed up, by some lever, and I saw light. Something in me was agitated…all of the sudden, I felt a strong, brief tap at the bottom of me. I felt propelled through the cannon at immeasurable speeds, my being burning through the cool air. I reached the metal beam in less than a second as my head plunged into it and I shed my lead core; my copper skin recoiled, and I was traveling over Jorge’s head, then I saw Gabriel and I was heading right into his dreaming head. The stork was still in his gaze….and I could swear, after I reached a full stop, that I was looking through Gabriel’s eyes…he looked at the bird, at the sky, then the azure of his gaze turned dark….
Jorge turned around, but did not see Gabriel, and he became frantic and started running around the landscape. He saw the gray sole of Gabriel’s yellow galoshes and tears flowed from the corner of his eye lids. He screamed as he held Gabriel’s pierced head in his hands…bleeding…motionless. I traveled through the boy’s head, and his dreams were the last thing I touched. The warmth of Gabriel’s body, I remember, quickly faded as I ricocheted back into randomness.