Read this story in its entirety at The Greensboro Review, Issue 166
Everyone hated Tampa Tom. His friends hated him and his enemies hated him. His parents hated him and never called. His wife and his kids hated him and moved to the other side of town. His neighbors definitely hated him and hated his lousy lawn. They made fun of his old car and called him poor. His dog, too, hated him, and ran away frequently, but always came back because no one else would feed it. His boss hated him and his coworkers hated him the most because they had to be around him all day. He was always so hated. His school teachers hated him already as a little boy. Crossing guards, police officers, and tax attorneys totally hated him.
But that’s not all. The trees hated him. The sun hated him. The water he bathed in, the ground he stood on, in fact the very air around him hated him and tried to pull away from his lungs. Tampa Tom was always a little bit out of breath. Doctors thought he had asthma but it was just the angry air. His doctors also hated him and wanted him to die.
Even the cells of his own body hated him a little bit, and he was always cancerous.
Tampa Tom was not from Tampa. He went to Tampa once on vacation and rode the rides and slid the slides and saw an egret, which is a kind of bird on two legs, and when he got home he told his coworkers about the trip, so they started calling him Tampa Tom to make fun of him openly. This story has nothing to do with Tampa, so try not to focus on it.
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Read the rest at The Greensboro Review, Issue 166 — 2,267 words
This story was rejected 44 times before acceptance.