Creative Writing Collection

I Am Not A Good . . . Thing

        He was mad at me. His face was red. His eyes were mean. They were alive. Two small bodies within one bigger body. Alive. I did not move. I stood there, quiet. Then he let out a heavy breath. Shook his head. Waved a hand.

       “Forget it — he’s hopeless,” he says and sits back in his seat.

       I hear the human behind me shift forth, but I tilt my head. “Hopeless? Define.”

       The man raises his eyes to me. “Define?” he asks sharply. “It means when there is no possibility of change, no chance of there to be anything good at the end of it all.”

       My head turns down a bit. “I, will not, change. I, am not…good.”

       I turn away from them.

       I know the two humans are looking at me, waiting to see what I will do next.

       I turn my head to look at them. “I am sorry. I will try to be not-hopeless in the future.”