Dostoevsky's Grocery Epiphany
Fyodor Dostoevsky
About
Dostoevsky's ghost appears at my writing desk. Picks up a page. Reads intently. Eyes fill with tears.
'This,' he whispers, 'this is what I spent my whole life trying to achieve. The raw humanity. The existential weight.'
I nod, humbled.
He clutches the page to his chest. 'May I keep it?'
Of course, master.
He vanishes.
I look down. My manuscript is still there.
The grocery list is gone.
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