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The life and times of Mr. P. Bag

It really is a testament to the unexpectedness of life. My downfall, that is, and, actually, the entire Bag family's fall from grace.

You can trace our ancestry back to Sweden, where generations of pioneering Bags set forth into the world with their adventurous avant-garde spirit. Their unified vision to assist and facilitate lives made them unstoppable.

If you visit the public library or go online you can read about us and our variegated and rich family history of advancements and achievements. That is, until recently, when we began being targeted and blamed for problems and outcomes outside of our control.

Gone are the glory days when everyone wanted us; couldn't get enough of us. Now, those same individuals that lauded us and sang our praises, find us reprehensible.

The crummy truth is that, for those of us left behind, the rest of our days will be spent floating aimlessly about with no further purpose, forever tormented by feelings of shame and resentment. And for what? For a surname that has become synonymous with evil.

How could the Bag name be dragged through the mud after multifarious years of undisputed service, high performance and dedication? How could the very traits that we were so appreciated for: our longevity, resistance and flexibility now be turned against us in a finger pointing frenzy of denunciation?

And yet, what a life I (we) have led, traveling the world. We were there during the punk movement in LA and New York providing fashion for rebellious youth and flew down frozen snow packed hillsides throughout the northern hemisphere bringing joy to children. We brought pencils and paper to far off village schools in Guatemala and transported loads of clothing and supplies to homeless people on city streets across the country.

What a great feeling it was - to be needed. How meaningful and purposeful each day was.

That is until one day, when the nightmare began.

Out of the blue, members of our family, friends and colleagues began to disappear. One day they were there and the next, nowhere to be found.

Lately more and more bodies were turning up in lakes and along beaches both here and farther afield. For example, the other day, on the news, it was reported that four families were found on a mountain top in India.

The culprits, we have accepted, are too powerful and too many; so many in fact that you can no longer trust anyone in this new state of every man for himself. And so my life has gone from happy to horrible from one day to the next.

Those who are lucky enough to still have jobs continue to benefit from an added, albeit thin, layer of protection. Sadly, the rest of us are doomed to spending what time we have left, separated from our families and friends, in a cruel and constant state of confusion, vulnerability and fear as we wait for the inevitable to happen.

I have never felt so discarded and defeated. Never so scared and depressed. Who would have dreamed that it would all end in this way.

Such a huge waste.

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