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Memoirs of a Tissue Box

I feel so used.

There’s that nasty hand again. Reaching out for me. She hasn’t even washed it since the last time. I remember being untouched. I once was full and happy. Now, I just feel used. I can feel the little germs running around over my body.

She’s pulling my insides out. Bit by bit. Soon there’ll be nothing left in me.

But does she care?

She says it’s just allergies. I think it might be a cold, or the flu.

But what do I know? I’m not a doctor or an xray machine.

All I know is I was a pretty box of tissues just made to sit here and look nice. They gave me big purple flowers and called me “ultra soft.” The way it’s going I’ll be empty by the end of the day and sitting in a trash can. Still svelte and new from the store, no dents, dings or dust; but now on my way to the city dump.

Along with all of my innards….err….tissues that were once snuggled inside me. Now crumpled and full of all kinds of gross mucus and glop.


Life is so unfair.

Recommended1 Simily SnapPublished in All Stories, Flash Fiction, Humor