A Day in the Life of the Africa Stain

A Day in the Life of the Africa Stain
Grant Wallace

My anxiety is getting the better of me. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Always promptly followed by a sense of false hope and an immediate rejection. I feel like The Plague is more popular than I am and it’s not like that helps any. He kills 15,000 people in a single reading yet everyone wants him. And it’s not like he’s all that different from me. Bound and branded, inked in numbers, costing next to nothing, hundreds of us just waiting to be picked off. Yet by the end of the day, they’re all gone and I’m the only one left. Am I that disgusting? Am I jealous? Am I jealous of Anne Frank? It’s gotten so bad I can’t even been stolen. Dam The Criminal Justice. I’m now the last of my kind, used and abused and covered in dried coffee. Oh, the stain. The stain of all stains. Every time someone touches me they instantly pull away. It’s true, the biggest moments in your life happen in just a few sounds and before you know it, you’ve turned from new and loved to sad and stained. I call it the Africa Stain because of the way it’s shaped. I tell myself it’s unique and endearing but then I’d just be lying to myself. And I know better than that. Once a customer suggested I be moved to the Monsters and Grotesque section. Those were dark times but I’m better now. I’ve accepted my fate and learned to live with my scar. I fall asleep each night reading Essentials of Children’s Literature. It relaxes me. But only the 5th edition, not 6th. I feel more comfortable with books my own age.