The Fate of the Used

It seems the family has been torn apart.
And in a state where they are scattered limb from limb.

A tragic report has come in. The end of a companion.

For a while now, in the room, the ones who use us have been lamenting, "This is the worst. I told you so many times to be careful." The ones for whom this is the worst are not you. It is us.

I glanced sideways at my companion, who had been shredded and was now damply stuck to the laundry. I feel sympathy, but I also find it amusing.

They came to this house a few days ago. Pocket-sized. They were popular products, wrapped and printed with trendy characters, and despite being newcomers, they threw their weight around. I didn't like their attitude.

Tragic result or not, I have no intention of blaming myself for having a heart that laughs.

***

Another insufferable one has arrived.

Perhaps because its texture is clearly different from ours, it is being welcomed by the users. The word "celebrity" is on the package. There is no humility in the way it takes over the prime spot on the desk, looking every bit the part. Its gaze is also bothersome.

Acting like an aristocrat. But.

"Huh? It tastes sweet. Why? It's sweet."

It was never used for its intended purpose; for some reason, it was licked and torn by a child's tongue, ending its life. See? I told you so. In the end, we are the ones being used. Whether you are a commoner or a celebrity, you cannot resist your fate.

***

Finally, the seal on the plastic bag I am in has been broken. The many layers of companions that had been stacked on top of me are leaving one after another.

Even though I knew this would happen, I found myself trembling. A world I have yet to see, a future I do not know, is bearing down on me. The one that had been lying on top of me until yesterday finally shows half its face, waiting for its turn. Once this one leaves, I am next.

"Aren't you scared?" I ask with a trembling voice.
"I'm not scared," she says.

"We were born to be used. No matter how much we struggle, we can never become the ones who use," she added. Swaying and fluttering as she was blown by the air conditioner's breeze. Her standing figure was dignified and beautiful.

Even after being used, crumpled up, and thrown into the corner of the trash can, she still looked to me as if she were emitting a single ray of light.

What was I mocking all this time? Did I really think I was special, that I could become something else?

I want to ask myself, "Who do you think you are?" It was laughable, even to me.

Born as one to be used, no matter how much I struggled, there was no way I could ever become the user...

Just as I finally realized this, I was gently pulled away by the hand of the one who uses.

***

"I remembered my handkerchief, but forgot my tissues. I'll take one, if you don't mind."
The woman who said this must have been around eighty. She carefully folded me twice and gently tucked me into her pocket. I was carried away just like that to her home.

I finished my duty wiping up a drop spilled from a vase on the desk. Or so I thought.

After carefully unfolding me, now wet in one spot, she hung me on a clothespin hanger. With both corners secured, I swayed quietly.

I had only been lifted a few meters, but the view from there was completely different from anything I had known before. While being blown by the same wind, the wind chime ringing beside me felt pleasant. I felt the forest where I was born.

Peaceful.
In this very moment, swaying in the wind blowing there, I was beginning to accept my fate.

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