For Sale

I guess you could say I’ve been sick to my stomach lately. My owners have cleaned me from the inside out, stripping me of my character and restoring me to my original, generic self. They leave me helpless and alone, though I can see their heads hang low in shame as their distance from me grows further. And with their departure come the arrivals, day after day. These new families enter with magnifying glasses for eyes, analyzing my every flaw. The scar on my wall, or the beauty mark on my carpet; they look at these with shaking heads. The judging is harsh, and I cringe with each turn of the doorknob of a new critic. Why do they condemn when they don’t even know the story behind it? They stomp all over me—upstairs, downstairs, basement, and garage—with unrecognizable footprints and wafts of foreign scents. I feel empty inside, the usual clutter of a family lifestyle now dispersed and hidden. The vacuum cleaner traced lines on my carpet and the faint smell of Pine-Sol masks my true aroma. Classical music plays in the background, setting the atmosphere and playing with my heart. I would cry if I could.