FAT PANTS

A Story by CJ43223

Tell me what you think.

FAT PANTS

I’ve been ditched many times. It was not my skin material did not match their type, it was the imperfection.
Like age, I grew old as the narrow of time moving forward.
Like wine, I tasted better in the long run.

I used to be on the stage, overseeing millions of idiots jumping and screaming on the ground. One accident changed everything. A causal cut through my right side of the pocket by a destructive knife at the backstage after the show. The fabrics of denim were squeezing out like a broken spider web. Though it was just a small hole. The air fell in, given the most chilling impression to his leg skin, like frozen ice in the refrigerator. The cooling pressure raced to the thermoreceptor of his brain. When it finally hit the emotion of his untrendy feeling, my ordeal journey had then begun.

Years after years, owner after owner, my heart broke as they deserted me when there were better conditions of pants out there. Preferences and fresh outlooks were being advocated by those stupid fashionistas. I was alone, living in a donation store. All my hope was to be normal again, being able to look up to the clear blue sky and patching clouds. As I stopped thinking, a saw ran through my waistband.