.Sábado, Fevereiro 24, 2007.
Memories of a coke bottle.
A usual rainy day in august, with the same usual noise of cars running around, beeping, motorcycle engines, people walking rapidly, and a little girl looking out her window on the 17th floor at 433 Narnia st.
Alice was an imaginative person. She could spend hours looking out her little window , imagining whole-life stories of the tiny people passing by.
Every day after school she would run to the window and just observe the world . Locked in her tiny room the only thing she thought about was how big the world was. Same thing, over and over again. Not only did she create a new world and characters, but she would say it out loud, as if telling a story. Only there was no one else in the room besides a few semi-broken dolls, and some other old objects.
My story starts on the other side of town , where creeps walk around and the old warehouses used to be. I guess you could call it home. Glass bits around the streets, and broken windows everywhere was the classic scenario I was use to.
Handled carefully from the coast of the Atlantic ocean , the first thing I remember was a strange looking truck, loading itself with what would futurely be me and my brothers. A little fat man mumbled a lot from the front seat , and whenever he did , the nameless dog beside him barked . And it kept on like that most of the time. Anyway, I got the chance to see the stars whenever there were clear skies at night. And I spent the whole night thinking about how significant I was to the world, being an unaminated object and all. That¿s when I had my first existencial crisis. No worries, though, it ended as soon as I got into the oven.
It actually was hard to say goodbye to the truck owner and his dog, when I finally got where I had to go, although he didn¿t feel quite the same, I believe.
The oven was a drastic change for me. The intense heat modified my way of seeing my self, and physically I had transformed into something purer. My self-esteem was boosted! I was ready to conquer the world.
In a question of days I was molded into a long cilindric shape, what people like to call a bottle, and shipped to somewhere else. This time, we were stacked in shelves and being on the bottom, as I was, it was pratically impossible to see the sky. Good thing is I got to work on my people skills. I´m not sure if i should mention this but I¿m kind of a loner, and being placed so closely to other fellow bottles I was forced to say good morning, at least. Met one that said he was from a beach far north, and traveled down here in a traveler¿s shoe. Funny story indeed.
Finally I got to the ackward neighborhood, the one with all the broken glass. Scary place I gotta say. Well, let me continue with my story. I spent a few years locked in a basement before they even considered giving me a bath, and feeding me. But finally it happend. Rubber hands picked me out of a thousand, washed me up, and forced a sweet, thick, black liquid into me. I blacked out as soon as they sealed me.
When I got back to myself I was inside another truck, and it was very dark. Suddenly the back door opened, and crushing light almost blinded me. I was carried into a small convenience store, placed on the top shelf. A whole summer went by, people walking in and out, making that annoying sound of a bell, when the door opens. I continued static on the shelf observing everything. One day Alice came in. From all the other shiny new bottles she chose me, and took me with her, home. Since then i¿ve been sitting on this desk hearing her tell me stories about the people outside, fascinated by all the million things happening simultaniously out there.
I¿m happy here. Sometimes she¿ll clean me, taking the dust off, and stick a few pencils in me. Other times she¿ll just let me be, dirty and all.
ana banana 3:27 PM[+]
