An Old Friend
I once had an old friend, an old faithful if you will, he was the essence of the tool box, without it I was incomplete. I suppose we all end up with something we equate to being our special something, a purse, a car something integral to ones life, we form attachments based on criteria created to comfort us and fulfil a need of some kind.
The hammer itself was nothing special, it wasnt the Rolls Royce of hammers but neither was it the value saver version, it was about half way in between and it was perfect. No job was too difficult when you wielded it, it truly was the finest tool I owned, until one day I went to look for it and it had gone. I searched all the places I knew I would have left it but no luck, I couldn’t imagine what I would do, I couldn’t replace it. I gave up looking after a while, it had clearly been stolen and there would be no getting it back.
The hammer was indeed stolen, it seemed that someone walked into my workshop one night and helped themselves to just that and nothing else. I tried not to think about who would do such a horrible thing knowing my attachment to it, not to mention why they did it, rather than letting the negative energy get to me Ill acknowledge its gone and move on, there was no need to put anymore energy into it, no good would come of it. I moved on and the hammer had been retired from my life, I managed to get a replacement it continued the tradition of being the best hammer I had ever used, although I had only possessed two I felt I knew what made a hammer truly great, a questionable logic and no real proof make a mockery of my authority on the matter.
The second hammer went missing after several years of use, I couldnt understand or believe it, where did they go? Stolen again, the CCTV actually caught it this time, I recognised the shape, I didnt understand why they did it though, It bothered me for some time, I didnt want to confront them for fear of the reaction, something would have to be done, I sent them a message asking to talk. Meeting them was difficult, they were resentful and possessive, I asked why? It was because they wanted something that meant as much to them as the hammer did to me.
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