Sun beating down, heating, bleaching. Trapped. I can’t help but to think this is the beginning of the end. My owners have left me. Never had I thought I’d miss the salty, sweaty caress of that one-piece bathing suit pressing, stressing my frail, aged ribs. Never had I thought I’d miss the soft cradle of the ice chest crushing, sandwiching me between the rusted trunk of the station wagon and it’s own wet sandpaper underbelly. Never had I thought I’d miss my flashy rainbow colors that garnered all the tease from my solid-skinned brothers, now fading, vanishing in the UV rays. Have they forgotten all that I’ve done for them? All that I’ve suffered? It wasn’t them that waited for 3 years in that attic panicked, scared each year when the wicked, vile black widows would make their dens in my bones. Or when Christmas rolled around and the holiday abuse came. Shoving, tossing, anything to get me further into the darkness to make room for all the new joy-bringers. I was their protector, their savior. How easily they’ve dismissed my purpose, my reason for being. How long until the air eats away at my weakening body. How long until the sun finally takes it’s last lashing.

I suppose there’s nothing left…