Only a Beech Tree



August 26, 2019

I wanted hands. Good hands. Useful hands.

“Thank you.”
Ten metal fingers. Shoulders, elbows, wrists.
“What do I owe you?”
“Follow me.”
I did what he asked. I built things. He took them to a room I wasn’t to enter.
Curiosity grew. He was out. I looked. He came in, saw me. Broke my hands. Threw me out. Bleeding, broken, alone.

I was nothing.

Someone came. Extended their hand.
“I can’t help you,” I said. 
They shook their head, smiled. Held me. I did not want it. I struggled.
“Let me help you.” Their eyes held me still.


Login or Signup to provide a comment.

1 Comment
  • Indexianna

    Wow, this piece is like life in 99 words.

    10 months ago