Prompt: Write about an old resentment or unhealed hurt

Old. Gone. 

Gone. Yes, that's the word. Gone away, like the ashes from the cigarette, only leaving their remains on a carseat. To be squashed on by someone, or to pile up, again. To be seen when you have just cleaned the car. When you don't want to be reminded of it, but there it is. 

Are you, different, now? Are you the same? 
If you are different, have you learned to understand that people, the one's with skin, have emotions underneath? 

If you are the same, have you thought about changing? Have you thought about finding yourself a soul?


I assure you all are born with them, some just pretend they cannot find their own. 

And I am guilty of this pretense. 

But not like you.

No.


I would never be just like you. 

That would be a crime for humanity to incarcerate, even more so than the injustices that have taken place ever so recently. 

If you are the same, you should be outcasted by society.