There are many things to do.

And yet, there are very few things I can do.

Such are the thoughts of Mrs. Fillyjonk.

— Why me? – She said, staring at the mirror that is no longer hanging on the wall.

In fact, she is giving it away to somebody else. Someone who will see themselves on that very mirror, someone who will polish the mirror's surface, someone who will use that object and perhaps treat it like one object should be treated as... A thing, in a world of so many things. Things to collect, things to say, things to own, things to become other things when they are no longer useful the way they are...

And when one dies, all that is left behind, their legacy, it's all but things. Will they see myself in those things I'm giving away? Mrs. Fillyjonk thought to herself as she cleaned the dust away from the wooden furniture. She doesn't want to leave it untidy. Not even in her dreams will she allow dust, in any shape or measure, to exist as part of her legacy, her contribution to society.

She feels important. She wishes she could be any more useful, yet untidiness is all there is in the world outside.

Who else will take care of her garden like she does? Who will buy this house, who deserves to live in it? She had no idea. One day, Mrs. Fillyjonk woke up only to realize she may close her eyes forever. The reason? It's simple, but rather complex. A fish bone got stuck in her throat, no one can remove it. She knows no one can do it.

She knows... You can't buy youth like it's another thing you buy from a store.

She knows... The world isn't going to end today. Maybe tomorrow.

She knows... There is some dust left upon the furniture.

She knows... Her children are out there somewhere.

She knows... There is a fish bone stuck in her throat, yet she can't feel it.

She knows... Her house is afraid of her as much as she is afraid of her house.

She knows... Time flows like a river.

She knows... Dead leaves are a sign of decay.

She knows... The fish was delicious, but what happened is very unfortunate.

She knows... There is something she won't give away easily.

Something important, a thing that is lying between all these things she left outside for others to acquire. Someone already bought her mirror, as well as a porcelain teacup and a sunflower painting she did at the age of five. Was she five? Yes, everyone was at some point, including Mrs. Fillyjonk, whose life is being taken away piece by piece, thing sold after another thing.

— Why should it be me? – She asked, but no reply was given in return.

There are many things to be sold.

And yet, there are very few things I'm willing to sell.

Such is the tragedy of Mrs. Fillyjonk.