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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Submission for the Spring 2017 Flash Fiction Contest

Submitted: June 29, 2017

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Submitted: June 29, 2017



By my birth I was celebrated by many, but by life I am simply present. I am not left alone, but no longer do people ache for me or sing my praise. I am only another, one in a hundred just like me, stuck weeping on street corners. They think me theirs, but I am mine. They use my warmth, and take what I offer, and in return they leave their mess, or if I'm lucky, a few paltry coins. I'm not as good as others, not as cheap, not as homey, not as modern, not enough. And yet, here they are. Again and again, here you are, craving what only I can offer. 

I talk, but really I'm not even myself. I am my supplier, my body, my inner workings. As much as I may hate it I am you, and without you I am nothing. I thought I was coming to the land of milk and honey but I was wrong. I am the land, your salvation. I am the coffee shop, weeping forgotten on the street corner, with peeling paint and loose shingles, only enough revenue to keep me alive, and I am nothing more.

© Copyright 2018 Emily Froese. All rights reserved.

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