A sign lay abandoned on the grass unnoticed. Somehow, it wondered where it's person had gone, and why he had left. No one passing seemed to notice or care. The sign, asking for just a little piece of kindness, stared up at the sun, the sidewalk so close, and cars racing by just beyond that. But it was just a sign, unable to do much of anything on its own.
Had the sign been psychic, it would have known that it's man had given up. The voices in his head kept him low, kept him depressed, and it had all finally gotten to him. The sign had slipped from his unwashed, uncared-for fingers to its final resting place in the grass. The man, staring at the ground as he tottered down the sidewalk, found a decent place under a bridge, off the beaten path. Better than the side of the road, he'd figured.
The sign wished for someone to notice it, notice that it was alone, without a person. It wanted someone to help. Someone? Anyone?
It was three days later when someone finally noticed the sign on the ground. Finally! The sign had almost given up hope! But the person simply made a face that clearly exhibited disgust, picked the sign up as though it were dangerous, and muttered something about littering before tossing the sign in the nearest trash.
The sign cried out, but no one heard.
The man's body was found far too much later.
