Transference

This is my 110th owner. I am not sure of the year anymore. I lost track after my 80th owner; around the year 2081. The cracks began to form around 2045 and day after day they get bigger in size. The Atlantic Ocean has one big waterfall; but you still cannot see the ocean floor. Some states have become islands and the Earth’s natural beauty has be drastically altered.

According to my 30th owner, when the first crack formed it could be felt around the world. Like a global pandemic; panic set in quickly. It did not take long for the wars to start. A giant crack in the Earth, had all governmental powers battling for control of resources. However, in that type of game, war only made things worse. Then the second and third crack formed. The wars continued but no amount of fighting would make life the way it used to be.

The population declined rapidly. The wars, starvation, crime, and the unfortunate luck to be near one of the cracks made overpopulation a myth rather than historical fact. “When the good ol’ days were here,” I would hear. Not just from my owner but from the people around them. The humans longed for the days of old. They prayed for another chance to do things differently. To be kind to one another, to understand more about what they did to the Earth; but eventually no one remembered life before the cracks.

Everything was simple with my first 20 owners. I was passed down from generation to generation. I cooled the warm skin with my gold and silver design. There would be owners that kept me tightly locked away with passports, rare coins, and hidden wills. Some of my days were surrounded in darkness while others blinded me by the light and metal reflection. Now, most of my days are coated in blood. The edges of my heart shape are rusted with dry blood. Between the gold links in my chain, dirt gathered. I feared and anticipated when my current owner would lose me.

I used to be accented with other pieces of gold or silver jewelry. I found a cozy place between a set of pearls and faux diamond earrings in a red velvet lined box. Now, I exchange hands so quickly, I have no time to find my place. I am a treasure without the adventurous expedition to find me. I went from sentimental value to incalculable value. It is like going from homeless to rich within a matter of months. You try not to let the new status change who you are, but it does. In my case, it not only changed my status but how others reacted to my status.

I estimate that it has been around two decades since the third crack formed. There are campsites all around and new ones pop up every day. My current owner does not stay put for long. “It’s too dangerous,” she affirmed as she collected all she owned into a faded red duffle bag. She unrolled a silk blue scarf and turned me in her hand a few times. She studied my nicks and dings into the metal again; like something has changed from the few days she had me hidden in her bag. I have become more important to my owners than ever before, but I feel that they change the longer they possess me.

I found out from my 30th owner why I became so important. “This heart shaped locket is one of the last pieces of real gold and silver in the world,” he whispered. His friend, a beautiful brown skinned woman, did not believe him at first.

“How do you know?” She asked.

“It’s all over the broadcasts. Well, the ones I can pick up on this old radio. You see how scarce drinking water has become. I do not doubt that gold, silver, diamonds or other ‘precious’ metals are even more rare.” He seemed to find great pride in this. His voice began to elevate as he really processed my exponential value. She quickly realized this and put her finger to her lips and whispered, “quiet”.

“If people found out,” she took a look at her surroundings within the camp, “or even if its true, you are asking to be a target.”

She was right. He could not keep his secret for long. A jagged knife, coated in rust with a dull blue handle was left in his back a week later. Blood poured from his mouth after my 31st owner snatched me off his neck. One of the richest men on Earth was now a poor, unfortunate soul in the street. A victim of the crime that filled the streets and became the norm as people tried to survive. The thought of power and wealth loosened his lips. The thought of power and wealth ended his life.

My days are now veiled by a crimson red curtain. As the cracks continue to spread and widen came more death by the hand of others. The humans are just trying to survive while each new owner is trying to gain power. The wars have stopped, and governments have crumbled. The hierarchy of wealth has been reduced to what resources you have control over. Even if you do have resources that others need; you will not control them for long. The “powerful” always meet the same fate as my owners, death.

A small heart shaped locket containing a discolored picture of a man and a child was important. I tried to figure out why. How would you obtain such power and wealth in a time where no one is fully in charge for long? How would you keep that status when I have such a bloody history? The two people I hold inside turned into a memory now forgotten. No one ever opened me until my current owner. She looked at the man and child with curiosity. Did she wonder who they were? Who owned me first? What was life for this man and child? She did not remove the pictures, but she never opened me again.

I know little about her. She doesn’t talk much. Born into a world that only knows chaos and famine; she had to be tough from the beginning. Why the humans decided that reproduction was a good idea eludes my comprehension. A child would be born into chaos. In that world you become either predator or prey. She chose predator. She traveled from camp to camp, never getting too comfortable. I don’t know if the same geographical borders remained. If you traveled you just headed north, south, east, or west. People traveled on the rumors of more water up north or the more west you go the more violent the gangs become. She just wandered. Her coiled black hair housed kicked up dirt and her boots were starting to get holes in them so she would have to stop and trade soon.

I find myself enjoying my time with her. She makes small talk, but she never mentions me. She was born in the wrong time. She would be a college professor or advisor to the powerful and wealthy. She spoke softly but she negotiated better than all my other owners. She was graceful and ruthless at the same time. Agile and gentle on a day where she wanted to just relax. A katana on her back, two hand knives in her pockets and a small revolver on her ankle. I would think the revolver would be more valuable than I, but it is just as quick to change owners as I am.

“When this world finds a way to adapt to the ‘new’ Earth; I won’t be left behind,” she said to a passerby. She always looked out for another woman traveling alone because its dangerous. “More dangerous if you don’t have a weapon and want to see the good in everyone.” She laughed off this younger woman who wanted to leave camp when she did. She was dealing with the lawless of the world within her own family and she wanted to escape. My owner helped her get to the next camp before she ditched her. She probably would have robbed her if she let that girl stay with any longer. That is how I wound up in her possession. She did not have to kill 109. She robbed him in his sleep. She left him naked and alone as she snuck out of his tent and into the night. He could not keep me a secret either.

She wandered in any direction. There were rumors of a utopian society that helped each other and had access to water to the east. So, she headed south. With no indication how far east or how far north someone would have to go; she just went everywhere. Nicely tucked in my scarf, I began to think about her wandering. How far will I go with my owner before she is surrounded by blood, and I transfer owners once again?