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I The
water drips. The
old bucket squeaks.
There is a hole in the side,
the handle is broken,
and
I am too poor,
too meek,
to
have it fixed. So
I now carry it
one hand on the bottom,
the other on the edge.
But
I am growing weak,
too
weak,
to carry it like this,
for long. Someday,
I know,
I will drop the bucket.
And
the water will spill
all over the floor,
and my master's shoes.
His very shoes.
Still
my master will look
at me,
with
his piercing eyes that
I
can never meet. And
he will not say a word. He
will not condescend
to speak
to me,
or yell
at me. But
I will understand.
I will understand.
And
I will feel
his anger, and
it will burn
inside of me. And
I will be sick
for a week.
A
whole week.
A long week.
I
shudder at the very thought.
I
am frightened,
truly frightened.
My
future looks bleak. II I
have committed
a grievous error.
A truly grievous error.
And
now, I am being punished
for it, My
master himself has chosen
to administer
the punishment.
And
I feel honored by this,
so honored
I
cannot feel any pain,
not the slightest hint
of it. Until
I drop
to the ground,
and
I see my master's shoes,
next to my eyes. And
I try to kiss them,
before
I faint. Then
my nose begins
to bleed,
profusely,
it
begins to bleed,
and bleed. Ah.
Water first I spill,
and now blood on your shoes,
O, master. How
inconsiderate
of me. How
bloody inconsiderate.
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