Friday, August 11, 2006

Fiction Fridays: If I Were a Guinea Pig

I know I am ugly. I shimmied by a shiny toaster at the ripe old age of 1 and was shocked by what I saw, the fun-house curve of the toaster didn’t help. Every day is a bad hair day, so much so that maybe it cant be considered bad anymore since there is no real balance of “good” on the horizon.

Sometimes I think of my cage as a throne, I am protected and honored when I am in it, people admire me when I am there. Other times I think of it as captivity, I suppose it is both.

I love my food as much as an individual can love the reassuring crunch of dry pellets. Sometimes the crunching drowns out the sounds around me that I cant bear to hear anymore, that is quite nice.

I don't have any aspirations. I have known no one like me in this world to comfort me with tales of other places and ways of living.

Occasionally I like the feel of the cool metal bars of the cage on my nose.

Thank you for this opportunity for me to tell you about my life, that’s all for now.

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