Micro Stories, Flash Thoughts, Short Poetry

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He liked to work. He loved to work. Prided himself on being a workaholic. Relaxation is for bums, he said. Work is life and work is God, he said. Work is its own reward, he said. On his deathbed, life flashed before him. Tried to find happy moments, there were none. Tried to find sad ones, there were none. No friends came by for there were none. What have I done with my life, he thought. And then he began to cry.


Written by Kalpesh Muchhal

March 4, 2010 at 6:00 pm

Posted in Uncategorized

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