Why I deserve something?

I was born into slavery. All my life I had been a tool, a means to an end for other people’s needs and desires. I was kept in the dark, living on a diet of stale Ritz crackers, peanut butter and diet root beer.

But the day came when I finally saw the light. I remember it well, it was the eve of my 16th birthday. My keeper forgot to lock the door when he left for his latest assignment as a hired killer. I escaped, running through the streets of the city, shouting for joy, saying hello to EVERYONE, amazed at the beauty of the people around me, at the bright lights and the excitement of freedom, of living. Then suddenly, someone took my picture. At first I was frightened, but the old woman who had snapped the photo was kind. She snapped several others. Then seeing my discomfort, she wrapped her arms around me as we walked to the photo development shop. As we waited for the pictures to be developed she fed me chocolate truffles, cooing over me, telling me what a pretty child I was. She had never had children, she said.

Well, I had never seen myself, I had never even looked into a mirror. And I have to tell, you, one hour later when the photos she had taken of me were passed into my hands, my life changed. I really WAS pretty. I had a button nose and big brown eyes. And my smile was radiant.

I never returned to my prison. The old woman took me home, adopted me, and began to fill my starving belly with cheeseburgers, french fries and strawberry milkshakes. I was in heaven, though there was only one thing missing. I needed a camera. For Christmas that year, the old woman bought me a disposable camera and I became a fanatic, snapping pictures of all the beautiful, free people that came into my line of vision.

That was many years ago. The old woman, the only mother I have ever known, died last year. Now here I sit, free but poor, living on a diet of stale Ritz crackers, peanut butter and diet root beer, unable to even afford a disposable camera, just wishing that Ted Murphy, the CEO of PPP, would have mercy on this wounded soul and make my dreams come true by hooking me up with some HP camera gear.

I could start my life anew by making my profession one of taking digital photography and finally be able to afford the chocolate truffles, cheeseburgers, fries and strawberry milkshakes my dear mother raised me on. I beseech you Ted, oh powerful one, choose this former slave and prospective photographer as one of the lucky posties that you bestow a gift upon!