Woe is me.
For what is my purpose but to shed light upon the darkness?
I’ll admit that I’m not nearly as beneficial as some other sources of illumination, but if you are bereft of choice I’ll do my level best on your behalf.
Here I sit, my life almost spent; and, worse than this: uncarried. It’s not right to shine perpetually on the same spot. I should be being transported; moved around, my light bravely flickering, revealing things otherwise left unseen. But no: I was set upon this spot some time ago, discarded without a thought. I should have been extinguished at that time, but my flame still burns, expending my very essence.
You may argue that when I am done there will be another to take my place; the space I fill will soon be taken by another, so similar to me as to make no difference. But this is poor succour to me.
All this, of course, is just theoretical, because to top it all off, the light of day reveals all. There are no shadows for me to dispel.
I have no reason to be.
When the end comes, I think I shall welcome it.
Word count: 199
Prompted by Flash Fiction for the Purposeful Practitioner