CONSTRAINED WRITING CONTEST--From the perspective of an inanimate object.
@svashta hosted a constrained writing contest where we had to write a story from the perspective of an inanimate object. I have taken this one step further and will be rewarding my readers as well.
Whoever can guess what I am will win the loot from this post.
- Be sure to upvote this entry so the pot is larger
- Feel free to ask for clues and guess as much as you like. Good guesses may get votes from me and others.
- First person to guess correctly wins the prize!
And now for the story:
My family and I were separated not long after we immigrated to the U.S. from Ecuador. We huddled together on the trip over, and kept warm against the skins of other families who were in the same situation we were. "All in the same boat" was not just a saying for us. It was literal. Promises of success and prosperity are what made the trip endurable.
My family and I thought we would be together always. We had never known anything different.
When we landed in Texas, we were marched off the ship from the cargo bay, where we had been stowed in a manner that saved money on fare, but it was cold and damp, and smelled of dirty animals and rotting fish. But we made it. And we were together, stiff and starving from the trip, and green with envy for other, luckier passengers who rode first class. Many families died on the way over. They had been suffocated or crushed, or simply withered from stress. But we all made it.
Our immediate goal, once here, was to strike up trade in the corner markets and try and make something of ourselves. We planned to stick together, through it all, until the first tragedy hit. After marching us off the ship, they lined us up on display, and we were picked over and fondled by dirty, rotten men with pencils behind their ears and clipboards in their arms.
They shoved us into the back of large trucks and slammed the gates down with a thud. We had no choice in the matter. We did not speak the language, and did not dare protest, or we would be separated or killed. These people were stronger and better equipped than we were. We were hungry, tired, thirsty. The trip was long, but not as long as the voyage overseas had been. And we could hear traffic and commotion outside of the truck from time to time, which made things somewhat interesting. But the fear of death and the unknown rang louder than any sound from the drive.
We finally made it to our destination in the back of a warehouse, where we would be unloaded, divided up, and sold. My brother went first from our family. The perpetrator wore a brown jumpsuit with a zipper that ran from the neck to the crotch. He had a partner named Ronny. They were not in charge, just following orders. But they were not to be tampered with. And their owners were not interested in paying top dollar for immigrants that wouldn't perform as expected.
They inched their faces close to us and inspected us as though we were objects, with no feeling or soul.
"Too many freckles, this one. And too small."
"Yeah. And this one bruises too easily. Look at this. I ain't payin for this."
He and his family were thrown out back somewhere. I don't know where.
"How bout these fine little specimens right here? They are all looking rather spry."
Ronny had leaned in to me and my family at this point. The stench of his breath seemed to come from somewhere in his bowels.
"No, too wiry, Ronny. Damon prefers his supple and soft."
"Not me. I like them firm and strong."
This was the last thing I heard before my brother was ripped from us. Ronny just snapped him away, without so much as a warning. It all happened so fast. I will not go into detail as to what happened next, but I never saw my brother again.
Together, with the help of several other jumpsuits, the pair smuggled hundreds and hundreds of us into smaller vehicles, separated more of us from our families, disposed of us as they chose, and used us on the spot. Selection felt like something of a lynching. We thought maybe it had to do with the color of our skin that made some of us stand out over others. And that did play a role in the selection, but mostly, it had to do with who looked the healthiest and most robust.
As grateful as my family was for being healthy and robust and making it on the first trip, this ended up cursing us in the end. Not a single one of us lasted through the month. We were lynched, picked off, and snatched by hands who knew nothing of our struggle and why we were here. I am likely the last of my family members. I have lasted longer than most. My owner has plans for me in the morning that will be the end of me, so I am making this plea out of desperation to help save my race. Something must be done.