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I was thinking the other day that the life of an asterisk must suck, so I wrote a short story from the perspective of the red headed step child of punctuation, in the form of diary entries.

May 9th

I feel like I have no identity anymore. All I am is filler for actual things…stuff people are ashamed of or want to keep secret. I’m your password. I’m censored profanity. I’m everything and nothing.

June 1st

Today I realized that people on the internet are using me to represent an asshole in instant messenger conversations. Well I feel special.

June 3rd

Today a professor used me to signify a star on a freshman philosophy paper because she didn’t want to type out “good thesis.” There’s nothing more demeaning that being used to compliment shallow analysis of Nietzsche.

July 16th

Explanation points don’t know how good they have it. They have meaning and demand attention. People listen to sentences with exclamation points. Hell, even periods command respect because they represent finality. I am just an indicator of something else. People feel nothing when they see me. If punctuation were the Seattle Real World cast, I would be Lindsay, the nice one that everyone forgets is there.

August 9th

I was in Blockbuster today and I noticed that I am used to indicate what awards movies won on the back of video boxes. Honestly, I was most cheapened by the “My Cousin Vinny” box, which happily informed readers, through me, that Marissa Tomei won an Oscar for her role. I’ve hit rock bottom. I really need some f***ing therapy.