You think you understand me? What a joke. No one understands me. No one even tries.
You write me off, dismiss me. You try to diagnose me, apply your useless labels.
Open your ears! Listen, for once. “Foogledy balpadons, hormeath!”
See? You’re making that distant, absent face again… Nobody understands.
This story was based on the prompt “understand me?” at TypeTrigger.
“I’m an utter failure,” moaned Willy the possum. “If only I had gone to the Interstate with my brother Ben. I could’ve really been somebody!”
Willy flopped down beside a pothole on the back-country road and sighed wretchedly. “Goodbye, Linda.”
Perhaps symbolically, the truck driver didn’t even notice the bump.
Vigafray suggested the title this story was written for. I interpreted it as a play on the classic, erm, play, Death of a Salesman, which I’ve never actually seen or read. Maybe that’s why this story is so depressing and not funny. I don’t know. So sue me. The lack of humor in this story is just another in my long line of failures and uselessnesses. (Heh, there are so many “S”es in “uselessnesses”. Hee hee.)