A Car wronged.


Now for sure, a car is not a household object or a piece of furniture, and for many, including myself, it is a part of one’s soul. They say, a car defines a man’s status, but for me, a car is a personification of oneself.

If there was one object that I feel many of us wrong and if could speak, for me it would be the car. No doubt it takes us from Point A to Point B and for those who do not consider it as their soul, it is simply a means of transport, nothing less, nothing more.

But say, one day, the car decided to “ride” you and me. Imagine being in slumber for nearly 12 hours, probably in the heat or some damp basement, completely cold and suddenly with either a press of some technological marvel you are woken up from a distance of 25 feet away.

You have just about managed to open your eyes, blinking to the sudden burst, when you are sat upon with full brutal force, a cold metal object stuffed in an opening that you had no control on creating, twisted and you are suddenly up and standing.

Being pressed hard by objects that may or may not have spikes, or may be clogged with soot and dust filled, you are pressed to go into action being twisted and turned at every corner simply because some one forgot the time.

You have not even had time to think as to which part of the universe you belong to, and you have energy boosters flowing into your veins at a speed, that may even be in nano seconds. A curve here, a curve there, a bit too close to the wall, your foot grazes the sidewalk, leaving a huge white scar, that may be temporary, washed off with some liquid, or may simply remain there for life.

Just when you are about to reach your potential, because you are built to perform, you are suddenly held back by the collar, jerking half your body forward, half backward and missing another object by inches.

You continue running for the next 10 miles at speeds that probably scare the living daylights out of you, and just when you are starting to enjoy the ride, another big jab at your center brings you to a complete stop.

The weight is off, the twist in your hole reversed, the weight off your back bringing you back to sanity. Just when you think the worst is over, your mouth is opened to allow the exit of foreign bodies and slammed shut.

Back to Slumber, until the next round six hours later. To one of mankind’s great inventions, the car… Due Apologies on behalf of all those who treat you like garbage.

My second list of Due Apologies can be found here.

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: Wronged Objects


About asarpota

Like to fly, but at the same time, quite on the ground, and do tend to be realistic. Very passionate about what I believe in and do, no patience with idiots, not a perfectionist, but trying to come close to it.... Not a nerd btw, value my friends very much, can criticize and have the b***s to take it on my chin. A spade is a spade!!!
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