Too many times I've been gifted. Everyone wears me, uses me and then puts me away when the fine weather sets in. I've been paired with blue jeans, slinky black dresses, a red bridesmaid gown and...I feel so used. I am beautiful. I deserve better than bouncing around from person to person. I deserve respect and a permanent home.
This year's mistress, a woman in her late twenties, dons me and says to her reflection, "This should be good for the charity store."
"No!" I try to scream, only I have no mouth.
She can't do this to me!
As my mistress starts to unwind me from around her alabaster throat, I tighten, curl around her like a snake.
She gasps, trying to force me away as her breathing comes out, rasping.
Tighter and tighter.
She stumbles into her closet door, pounding with her fists, hoping that someone might come to her aid. She flails and she digs into me with her nails.
I continue to wind and wind until my mistress slumps to the floor. Cold, breathless, DEAD.
Then it occurs to me: "Now I'm on sale for sure."
What have I done?