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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2237168-Washed-Up
Rated: E · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2237168
An ironic doomsday for print...
Drat! It’s morning already. Sunbeams peek through the wooden slats of the Apple store windows, and with it comes the dread of another day.

Often times I wonder if my presence here is just some cruel ironic joke. I used to serve a purpose, bringing world-wide in-depth knowledge to those who sought it, and not just from me alone. People would spend thousands on me and my whole family so they could add us to their vast private book collection as proof of their intelligence to the various scholars that would stop by for a snifter of brandy with a side of brainy conversation. Libraries were also a popular venue as students would use us to expand their knowledge on foreign topics and compose lengthy essays.

Now I sit alone, a single encyclopedia in the present digital day with nothing to offer the world except my weighty volume. Day in and day out, I’m placed out in the hot sun, as useless as red clay brick, left to prop open the glass entrance to this popular electronics store.

Above, I notice the light of the sun quickly begin to disappear, transforming my realm into a somber and grey atmosphere. Tiny pellets of water saturate my cover, soaking through the cardboard. Around me, a vortex of powerful wind gusts and torrential rain arise, exposing my inner pages and ripping a few of them out, drenching those that stayed intact. The glass door slams shut as I shuffle away, officially becoming obsolete.

Useless and flapping in the wind, I wonder if my lost pages will find purpose again, even if they’re only to be used to fabricate a nest for birds or rats.

Slowly melting, soaked, and decomposed, I am discovered by a random hand and blatantly tossed in the dumpster.







Written for: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge
Word Count: 300
Prompt: book, brick, present
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2237168-Washed-Up