It’s bent, not broken, but it was perfect once. Some machine had poured raw material into a mold, endlessly, methodically creating a limitless supply of these things. Later, this one came into my possession, and some time following, a melange of events led to this incident. And now it is bent. But not broken.
The most troubling matter is that it cannot be unbent. No amount of fiddling or fudging or twisting or prying, no matter the tools at my disposal, will return it to its original, manufactured perfection. Through the slightest unfavorable nudge of fate, its tiny world of purpose has been shattered.
It may be that I can one day restore its functionality. It would always look funny, but reinstating it to active service could be enough. It would live on in its imperfection, fulfilling the duties of its role in subtle disgrace. It doesn’t have a consciousness with which to feel embarrassment or shame, though it concerns me that I would feel these things on its behalf. Would its disfigurement reflect poorly on me? Perhaps by allowing this marred thing to live on, the condition of it becomes irrelevant, exposing my own flaws instead…
By allowing this fault to endure, through inaction, do I claim it as my own?
This is crazy good.
The imagery and the possibilities of what *it* might be make it very powerful.
I especially like this section:
>fulfilling the duties of its role in subtle disgrace. It doesn’t have a
>consciousness with which to feel embarrassment or shame, though it
>concerns me that I would feel these things on its behalf.