A work in Progress

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I was sitting on the old brown couch with a bowl of eggs. I liked ketchup on my eggs since my grandfather told me to like it. I didn’t mind the sad song playing as I ate. Or even the light that shone through one window, the blinds I was scared to open earlier were open then. My sister told me to stop sulking around and let some light in. Of course I listened, I always listen. So I sat alone eating eggs and a sad song playing, blinds letting light that I didn’t want in, and the bossy one gone to work. Parents gone and a perfectly good house just laying empty. Story of my life. Was this how I was going to spend it? Wasting away eating ketchup eggs that I eat out of obligation rather than preference? Yes, I was.

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