101 Word Fiction - 004
It was only a piece of paper. To be honest, it wasn’t really even paper; it was just zeros and ones, chained together in a virtual imitation of paper. Its infirmity, however, did not detract from the gravity of what the “paper” meant. This paper was the last few months of his effort made flesh. The black marks marring its surface, even if they were only strings of zeros and ones, described his life. They described 14 hours of each day, 7 days of each week. Those zeros and ones were stuck together with a paste of sweat, blood, and oil.
© Bernard Klinke 2009
