<P><B>"Recompose"
<P><B>By Peter Koclanes
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<P>The smell was overpowering. A smell like wet coal and scorched metal. The heaps of garbage rose and fell like sand dunes, like many mountains of garbage stretching out to the horizon. There was no end and no escape, but more importantly, no one to ask for help. Not a single soul remained here. In fact nothing delicate remained; anything that still existed was here only because it was strong enough to resist the elements. Strong enough to resist the fires which birthed this junkyard, and the waters which would later try to wash it away. But nothing could wash this away. 
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<P>This pain. This tragedy. This flaw. That was the key, I thought to myself. All pain and failure is the result of some flaw. Not my flaw, but someone's flaw. This could have been avoided. And I began to see all my own flaws. At that moment I became something else, just like this place had become something else. But I was not transformed into garbage, like this once beautiful place had been. Quite the opposite: like junk metal, melted down and shaped into a sword, I had become forged into something useful. Something powerful. I was clear and focused. My dedication would fix every flaw I encountered.
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<P>I sat down on the hood of a melted automobile frame nearby. The tires had obviously been destroyed, and in their place were four rusty metal tire rims which would never roll again. The glass from the window was gone too. Everything delicate was gone.
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<P>A bird landed on the hood next to me and sat there for several minutes, less than two feet from me. Its feathers had been coated in grease, and I could not tell what color they had originally been. Odd. There are no trees here for miles. I unconsciously reached out to try to wipe the dirt and grease away and clean the bird's feathers. Stupid move, I thought, as the bird fluttered away in a frightened state.
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<P>I sat until my mind was clear again. Then I stood up and clapped my hands against my thighs to shake away the dust that covered them. I looked around the junkyard once more. This was once my home. But I was strong now. Strong enough that I no longer needed a home. All young birds must someday leave the nest.