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Hand-me-down Life of a Metal Bowl Named Mumford Ash

by C.A Fenderson Jr. 8 months ago in fact or fiction

My Thrift-Find Ascension with Myrrh & Frankincense

My name is Mumford Ash. I am a metal bowl made of ores, dusted away repeatedly but now to a desperate ledge. My birth owner lost it all, including me, when strangers sold everything he kept—a frustrated pot who copes long enough to treasure my life's purpose.

The security alarm chimes inside of me to count each day, the wise china bowls say, that is when the lights turn on. I counted four counterclockwise circles. One knee bent to place back Fancy, claiming to be an all wooden maple hanger, plus two bellows to her 3-year-old jackanapes, ere this owner rechecking my price.

"Yep, still $5.oo, Ma'am," I proclaim. The young worker drove his nails down on my price tag with certainty on the edge of my bowl, as I sit on a display shelf and constantly hear,

"Thank you for shopping at Goodwill..."

"Attention Goodwill customers..."

Thank you?

The senseless horrors and terrorizing desperation I witness here are unmentionable. Immediately, potential owners called volunteers, haphazard items for sale across the warehouse. A good guy named Bumpy- a red rubber ball tied to a paddle and string, stretched intertangled 1000 times between toys, shoelaces, and a toaster. Suddenly, Bumpy got chopped into bits with something they also sell named Safety scissors.

Though, not all is inevitable. Non-stop, the others cheer and praise as new owners select them. Eager castoffs on the shelves are advantageous to go home to a family or even with other friends in bondage here with us. The saddest part is that not everyone gets fostered, even at priced half off.

But barely $5.00? Come on, lady.

You understand what it feels like donating to a second-hand store, and no one grasps your articles. One day I was mixed in with some go-backs in the kid's seat of a shopping cart. There was a white lace mosquito net covering me, embarrassingly next to the self-help used book section. Hopelessness.

Until one cloudless evening, I was the only piece purchased by a brand-new owner. Unfortunately, I did not get a chance to say goodbye to Fancy or the others. As nervous as I was, this had to be the best moment of my mental life---I mean metal.

Our first stop was a metaphysical store up 7th Street. I believe that is where Myrrh and Frankincense said they came from as well. These two said that they never met but would always hang around the display next to each other playing a game called, 'That's my pendulum.' Those guys have always been cool, wanting to smoke or hang out. The last one that came along with us was Charcoal, but he was always hot about something. We all had a job to do for our new owner as I see it now.

Our new place is a small one shared by our owner and his brother. All of our keeper's belongings are in a quiet corner section of the studio apartment but are cluttered clear, so Mryyh, Frankincense, and I immediately go to usage.

You learn plenty of stories while in possession of your new master. My last owner did me no favors and often placed unnecessary items inside me, such as loose change and every kind of butt filter. I transmuted questionable liquids and ashes uncommon to most. The contamination of ash was so intense it became my name. You said it, and I didn't--- my last owner was doing drugs on me. You hear many stories when your owner is intoxicated or under the influence. Many of them do not own up to self-blame.

I don't have much to say about the new owner we have so far. Our master is depressed, as he says. I believe we are here to help him through a bad breakup or separation. It doesn't take long for Myrrh to smoke up the small section we stay in or for our owner to drink three tall beer cans after work. However, Charcoal always seems to spark things up, while Frankincense makes it all sweet again.

Mr. Mumford, Récels Incense, Myrrh & Charcoal

I remember the first selfie we took. All the cold nights of anguish and worry. All the meaningless partners and pain. All the broke down tears and anger. The Incenses, Herbs, Charcoal, and I helped our lord through it all.

I remember the times our owner would work 50+ hours per week and hustle through his mental breakdowns to get our new apartment. A step in a new direction. Now that Myrrh and the others are long gone, I get to meet many more like my long-lost friends. I am pleased to say that my owner no longer drinks and replaced all the bad things with meditation, studies, and writing. Plus, I met a bunch of new herbs. Let me introduce them all by name:

  • Rosemary
  • Basil
  • Caraway
  • Peppermint
  • Sage and Smudge

Then all of my incense friends stop by time from time:

  • Patchouli
  • Blueberry
  • Nag Champa
  • Rose
  • Honeysuckle
  • Spice
  • Bouquet
  • and Dolce Vita

These guys are actually from the last relationship our owner came from but are very useful indeed. The best part about our owner's new place and endeavors is a new store around the corner he found and a bunch of new incenses he can enjoy. I met them all, and they all come by to burn out their loving smells into a peaceful atmosphere and space.

I asked them to send us a picture because I keep forgetting all their names; however, I remember Patchouli and Opium. I believe our owner favors these two the most. Speaking of pictures, my owner found one that looks like I do. It turns out that I am not a useless ashtray after all.

My new owner purchased me at 3-4 times less than I am originally worth, I am sure. Nevertheless, the last time I felt this worthy was the day I was crafted. I am sure the others will eventually find a new home and love. I pray that they are all cherished and find their thrift-find purposes.

fact or fiction

C.A Fenderson Jr.

Metaphysician, author, spiritual counselor, certified copywriter specialist, and entrepreneur.

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