/plɑːnt/: The Eye Witness

Sunlight. It's all I seek for. A sign of hope; a sign of care. As I sit by the puny window that has been smudged up from little Travis handprints, I would always look forward to two in the afternoon where sunlight comes by and then leaves. That's all my life ever consists of. Everyday. If only I could be able to have what those humans seem to call "feet" and find a better home where there's big windows but alas, I am all but a photosynthesis-ing living organism.

No human under this household has ever shown even a grain-size of affection towards me. I felt very oppressed when they would gawk at my dullness in disgust and mutter under their breath, "that raggedy-looking old thing." (121). I still got Mama though. She hasn't lost faith in me. Every dreary night, she'd sit right down next to me and reminisce of the past and plan for the future. I love the part when she tells me how I'm gonna have my own patch of dirt where I can freely grow instead of being crammed in this pot. Then she'll go humming that old tune that her male friend would always sing as he would painfully and slowly sit down and massage his aching bones. I don't know where he went but I hope he'll come back one day because Mama doesn't seem as happy as she used to when he was here.  

You see, that's the thing about hope. Even though I hear the same stories every single day: the idea that we will reach the goals of satisfaction; no matter how tedious and frustrating it may be, I still have this anticipation. I have heard countless sounds of mourning and disappointment, yet humans will go on with their lives and continue to fight back. What gives them the strength and energy to positively support themselves and strive to meet objectives? Then again, how would I know? I'm just a photosynthesis-ing living organism.

This is my good angle.