The Collector
The obsession began, outside a trellised cafe for a cherubic but neglected child, his parents, too engrossed with each other to notice his obvious lack. His mother’s swollen mid-section foreshadowed he’d soon grow a little lonelier.
A waiter noticed the child’s expanding isolation. Boredom to disconnect was often tragic. What could he give to salve the situation? He offered a string, strung with discarded bottle caps. In the hands of the child, trash transformed to treasure.
The cherubic, but neglected child gained his first collection.
He moved on from there to seashells and then tinker cars. When he entered school, it was a natural evolution to collect some of the other children. Friends a misnomer, he lined them up and played them off. Those that refused to be selected found themselves shunned to social Siberia.
Angelic cheeks hardened to chiseled features. The child grew to see himself a leader of men, a lover of women. As long as he had his collections, he had proof he belonged; he had proof he existed.
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Attributions
The Collector is copyright Pryde Foltz
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