I mourn as I try to hold the ragged fragments in my hands. They bleed through my fingers, falling softly and settling into a small, sad heap.
My heart is heavy as I make careful attempts at rescue. It is of no use. Try as I might, I cannot make it whole again; my feeble efforts only cause further damage.
I voice my anguish to an empty room. It was a great idea for a story, written on a napkin. Why didn’t I empty the pockets of my jeans before I threw them in the wash? Now it’s forever gone.
Julie almost 10 years ago
Lovely drabble. I'm sure there are a few of us writers (not me, thankfully) who've done something like this.
Pearl (Bea) almost 10 years ago
Thanks, Julie. Heh, I've washed numerous items due to not checking all the pockets. Drivers license, credit cards, receipts, lighters, watches - I even once washed and dried a usb flash drive that I use to back up all my books. Thank goodness it survived!
Tony Spencer almost 10 years ago
I blame my wife, she washes anything that's not moving!
Bryan Thomas almost 10 years ago
Excellent, Pearl!