Drifter

I'm floating around an empty room. Content. Nothing is wrong but I guess nor is it right. There is nothing. No emotion. No inspiration. No motivation. Everything about me is based on nothing and therefore I am non-existent, absent, invisible. I am hesitating. I have the time but I find excuses. I walk in circles staring at my feet as if they were someone else's. How the fuck did I get here? Where the fuck did I come from? 

If I were...

I may look a little rough around the edges but every scratch and imperfection marks the signature of both life and experience. I wear tattoos that read "I am" and "I have a story". The journeys I have travelled are tales waiting to be told, tales filled with adventure.

My life like most of my kind began at a coin mint where I was cut, pressed and polished (a rather painful process but you know what they say about suffering for your beauty and boy was I beautiful). I may have just been one in a million but I was determined to be the change. The time came for my evaluation and I past all tests with flying colours. As a young graduate there was a passion burning inside of me motivating me to make it out in the working world.

For all those who have started sinking back in their seats and the rest who hold their heads up with their hands, I hope you have used the opportunity to make yourselves comfortable because I have told you the story of my beginning but it is now time to begin my story. 

As much as I was excited I was scared. I had no idea what to expect. All that I had to go by were the legends told of life as a coin in circulation. I landed my first job in a small retail shop and fortunately for me it wouldn't be long until I was out of there. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP. It was dark and stuffy inside the till but the sound of items being scanned could mean only one thing: There would be a few moments when the cashier was counting change during which we could catch a glimpse of the outside world and if you were lucky score a free ticket out of there. Today was my day! I felt myself moving towards the light and from the warm sweaty hands of the cashier I landed in the soft palm of what I could easily have mistaken for an angel. She gently slipped me into her pink purse and then into her designer hand bag.

"Please, ma'am."

The small voice woke me from my daydreams. Ripped from the heavens I was placed in the cupped hands of a Stellenbosch bergie. Her fists quickly clenched and I felt the warm embrace of desperation. I hit the bottom of her rusted tin with a clink landing besides a plastic beaded bracelet and a few half smoked cigarettes. Every second in the jar felt like an eternity but in the fast moving world of today I knew it was inevitable that I would soon be traded in. I would move from hand to hand, wallet to pocket and back again. I could move from city to city in the space of a day and soon I would have travelled right across the country. 

Life threw me a curve ball when on a day I fell from the torn pocket of a young rocker. "FINDERS KEEPERS!" A young boy bent down and picked me up from the ground. He inspected me thoroughly like the day I had left the coin mint. He put me in his pocket with his well-kept bat-mobile and pulled me out again only once we had reached the safety of his own home. He grabbed the piggy bank off the shelf, holding it with two hands careful no to drop it as he placed it on the floor. With pride he inspected me one last time before gently pushing me through the slot on the porcelain pig's back. It is here that I would spend most years of my life.

Eventually coins like me would lose their value and production would be discontinued. Many years after this there is the possibility that I could be declared rare and then only will my worth increase again. The young boy will possibly pass me on to his son who will in turn pass me on to his son and I will make sure that I brought this family good fortune because...

...if I were a coin that were treated with care, I'd be a lucky coin. 

I may just be one but I could make your million.

Monday Mornings

Eyes the world over are tightly shut as life lingers in a world that is not our own; a world outside the realm of reasoning, where everyone decides for themselves which way is up and which way is down.  One becomes one’s own creator experiencing a sense of power and importance that is unknown to the average man. This is an ideal world that no one would ever choose to leave. 

Its almost time. This is the moment I have been waiting for. All pressure is on me. Forget the nerves, you’ll do great. Just remember timing is important! Do exactly what you did yesterday and everything will be just fine.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

“That mean Mr Alarm Clock! He is certainly punctual and is not shy to let this show.”

“That mean Mr Alarm Clock! He never fails to wake the world. It’s 6am on a Monday morning, he’s sure to let us know.”

“That MEAN Mr Alarm Clock! Is yelling out oh so loudly and ever so proudly that its time to get up and go!”

I take my job quite seriously and have never taken a single days leave but when us Clocks come together at a family reunion we never pass the opportunity to laugh at the amusing situations we may encounter during working hours. The funniest thing, and everyone would agree, to see at work is the physical reactions and transformations our clients undergo as they move from one state of mind to the other. Many curl in on themselves

backward, arching their backs as though their stomachs are already moving towards the kitchen before their brain has confirmed the hunger. Then there are the few who roll right off of the edge of the bed at the sound of my voice, successfully proving that yes the floor still is there even when you cannot see it. My personal favourite is the disfiguration of the face used as a physical indicator of fatigue.

I have quite an important job around the household you see. If I didn’t know better and could say so without sounding arrogant I would say that that it were the most important. Its up to me, you see, to make sure that the world wakes up on time in order to get on with business. There is word on the street that a distant cousin of mine once forgot to do his job. His clients, lovely people, had not been reminded to wake up so they went on sleeping and they slept right through the day. It was his client’s birthday, you see, and she had forgotten to wake up and she had forgotten to grow up.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

It’s 6am on a Monday morning, get up it’s time to go!

It’s 6am on a Monday morning, get up it’s time to grow!