Short Story: What A Day To Be Alive

I woke up today and screamed at the wooden ceiling.
My brows furrow at first,
and then I burst into laughter at myself.
What a day to be alive.
I wear a short-sleeve outside, 
allowing the wind to sink its teeth into my bare arms
because
I never expected to be alive this long.
I stroll down the street and actually
smile
at every passerby.
Maybe I'll be alive today.
As I sit on an empty park bench,
I pull out my pack of Marlboro Blacks.
I chain smoke five cigarettes just to
feel
the bite of nicotine in the back of my throat.

A man strolls in front of me with a young girl on his back.
They both avert my gaze,
the stigma of cigarette smokers.
She drops her tiny little shoe on the grass.
I pick it up and yell, "You dropped your tiny little shoe!"
To which, they ignore me.
I persist to follow them and poke the man on his shoulder.
He looks frightened at first.
The man thanks me and smiles.
What a day, what a day to be alive!

Sawyer S.


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