Life Flashes: a Transformation
"The strength of an isolated pawn lies in its lust to expand." - Aron Nimzowitsch
(Note: Another flash fiction submission. This one was rejected.)

I saw myself being built. This surprises you? Is it too far-fetched that I could sense the world once my purpose was defined? That you can hear me at this time of our transformation? Yes transformation. This is simply a change for both of us. Matter is neither created nor destroyed; like the soul, it is eternal.

I became aware when they added the Carnauba wax to the Cyclotrimethylenetrinitramine and the Trinitrotoluene. Once mixed, I was shaped into a cylinder with a conical hollow and lined with well-turned copper. Assembly continued. I received my nose and my nervous system. Everything went into a sleek casing of brushed-aluminum. A coat of matte-olive paint and I was whole. Not so different from what you are now. We appear to share a similar purpose.

I was housed with many others. We were moved around a lot and so I have traveled far over many years. It was often dark and much of the time I slumbered. Always I dreamt of my transformation. I was born knowing my purpose. Unlike you, I have no fear of it; none of the uncertainty that comes with sentience and emotion. Such is the nature of having but one purpose.

And so it went: Brief stops, then on the move again - often in a pack with others of my kind. Sometimes I thought my time was near, that soon I would fly - but I never did. I witnessed many others transform. I watched them fly and basked in the glow of their realized purpose. Yet always to the darkness did I return... for it was not yet my time.

Until just now, when I was removed from the pack and placed in the firing tube. Gouting flame and smoke, I leapt toward my purpose, toward this vehicle, toward you.

Rocket Propelled indeed! Here at the very end, nose just touching, my purpose is realized and I begin my final transformation! Contacts connect and power surges; electrons excite my RDX and TNT. I blossom into thunder and fire, my now molten copper liner leading the way; a hypersonic jet shaped by my cone to a fine point. Lancing through steel and bone, I roar into silence - a crescendo of smoke and stillness and death.

That it is your death is as much a part of my purpose as all the rest. Was it part of yours?