Unspent Years

A story of the shamefulness of frivolities.

I walked down the empty streets of the night shrouded city, stopping  only when I saw something which beckoned me to weep for it; a pristine burgundy Cadillac. It stood amid the miserable cold of the dark street like a broken memory, always near to the owner but never truly experienced by them. Merely owned and never cherished, the absence of marks and scars upon its unmarred surface stung like a gaping wound to me. I seethed with melancholy and every ounce of me begged to rectify its pitiful sheen, to take away what others hoarded and save it from the neglect of disuse. All I could manage was a whimper. "What a waste."

Author's Note

First Work, All words welcome