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Weekly Contest #285
I wish she’d let me die. Toss me out. Take me and the rest of the junk in this box to the curb. Let us meet our unnatural end. God knows how long ago we were cast into this closest—this door-knobbed coffin. Every few days we do get a burst of light, a flash of familiarity; that’s when she takes out the Hoover. Oh to be a Hoover—useful! But even his usefulness existed, again, in bursts. And now, I can’t remember the last time she reached for him. He was here when I was first brought home. How long ago was that, now? Goodness. Let’s see, m...
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