A Story of The Shoeshine

Dawn came with a dreary gray, ominous without a sign of warning. Until the clouds gradually cracked into a half, exposing the radiant of the sun light, he still did not care.

While he tightened the thin blanket on his shoulders, he turned his head to let the air blew his dark hair. It felt right, he whispered to himself. At last, no more pretentious, no more feigned, no more untruth in the midst of silence behind the shadow of those pine trees.

The weight on his head exhaust him. It all happened in a blink of eye. He was wrong and he finally gave up. The bliss has completely blinded his. He lied to the world, behind his poor eyes, behind his worn out shoes, behind his frail old guy he needed to take care of.

In order to be accepted by them, he pretended to be a prosperous. Parties, women, more wines, he tasted them all. Now, every single bucks he earned from polishing the shoes and selling breads could no longer buy their attention.

His friends were fake.

His life was fake.

He wished someone would take all of those lies he made. But it’s too late now. Prosperity could not turn the old guy back from the death, money could not take the trust back from his only true friend. He was alone, and he deserved it.

In response to Daily Post’s prompt challenge ‘Take It From Me‘: What’s the best piece of advice you’ve given someone that you failed to take yourself?

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