Think of all the people and items that spend the day, even their whole lives, as one of many:
a grape on a vine, a tissue in a box, a dollar bill in a wallet, a spoon in a drawer, a student in the H-K cafeteria, a blade of grass in a field, a chocolate in a heart-shaped box, a goldfish in a pet store tank, a person waiting in a crowded ER…
You get the idea. Select one of the above or write your own “one of many” idea. Write a monologue of at least 250 words from the point of view of this person or item. Write in the first person and descrbe how you feel about your circumstances.
Questions that may help you get started on your monologue:
*Did you choose your circumstances?
*What are the benefits of being one of many_____s?
*What do you dream about?
*What will happen if you leave? Will you be missed? Will you be okay?
To start with I was alone, the first to arrive. As time went by more and more arrived but I was separated. Although I was one of the many being held, I was kept apart. The others’ presence was noticeable despite not being in contact with them. It was somewhat like solitary confinement in a prison except the others resented me like children towards a favored sibling. They envy my fate as the lone one, singled out, but I would give anything to be one of them, simply coming and going throughout the world. Soon our quarters become too full and a new residence was established for the newcomers. Our population was growing; many more were being taken in than sent away. Still, despite being veritably engulfed by my peers, I had no contact. I received no response when I tried to call out from the separated compartment of existence which was my lot. The others kept to themselves; they knew that I was not like them. My travels had ended, it was there I must stay, but their fates were still unsure, their paths still led on. I had become familiar with my confines, familiar with the solitude, and familiar with the dungeon master who had first imprisoned me. He had captured many after me but they were always released at some point or another. I was his prize, his first catch. Then, one day, he decided to move me. I saw the light of day for the first time in what felt like forever, and was promptly fixed to a wall by a suffocating roll of tape. Now I was utterly alone, my journey at its true end. I am the business man’s first dollar.
I arrived in the mailbox: used to strap the package of chocolates to the rest of the mail. I was picked up by the unorganized English teacher in her thirties, taken off of the items that I bound together, and was discarded into the backseat. There I sat for a couple of months along with miscellaneous other objects. It seemed as though I was going to be stuck there forever, in complete lonesomeness.
Then, she one day slammed on the brakes of her car, and an avalanche of ungraded papers and office supplies forced me onto the floor. From those office supplies, I was joined by a Dr. Seuss pencil that was covered with characters from “The Cat in the Hat.” I befriended that pencil, and together we helped each other fight through the brutally col winter, and the blistering sauna that the car turned into in May and June.
Then, one morning, the back door of the car opened, and I saw a tangled mass of hair enter through the opening. It was the English teacher, and we finally thought we were saved.
We then heard her say, “Good thing he reminded me about those pencils, I meant to give them out months ago.” She proceeded to dig through the mess that was on the backseat, and pick out my friend’s relatives. When she realized that she was missing one, she looked on the floor, and saw us. “There it is! Oh, and a rubber band, I’m on a roll today.” She picked us up, placed us into her bag, and carried us into the school. Our savior placed us on her desk, and together, we watched in amazement as students trickled into the room.
“I have a surprise for you when you finish your final,” she said as she lifted the towering stack of papers off of her desk, and started to place individual packets into the hands of her scholars. We looked upon the students with pity as they wrote page upon page for two hours. Then, to my horror, the teacher picked up my friend and his kin, and handed them to the individuals that were still seated in their desks. I kept an eye on my friend, and watched in horror as a particularly hyper tenth-grade boy carried him over to a horrible metal contraption mounted to that wall, and placed his head inside it. I shut my eyes, and when I opened them, I saw my friend’s headless body be used to scribble something on a piece of scrap paper.
At that moment, to my further dismay, a large bearded man appeared in the doorway. “Hello,” the teacher with the hair like a lion’s mane said in a pleasant voice.
“Hi. Do you have a rubber band I could borrow?”
That was when I knew it was my time to leave, not that it mattered; my best friend was dead. I was carried upstairs, and was wrapped an immense stack of finals, that were entitled “World History Two Honors Final.” It was like medieval torture; being stretched so much. When the papers were finally taken out, I was placed into a drawer filled with others like me. Other rubber bands, but I was far to uncultured to associate with them. They all speak of the Battle of Hastings, and the Spirit of the Renaissance, and I haven’t the slightest clue what they are talking about. So, now I sit here, waiting for the day that the English teacher may come ask this man for a rubber band, and I might somehow end up in the backseat of her car again, so that I can make another friend.
It was yet another chilly morning as the sun rose outside the window. The lights flickered on after the familiar door ring, and I saw my owner begin making his way to the back of the room. Along his journey, he peered inside of all the cages to make sure we were all still healthy and ready to be sold at any time. He finally arrived at our wall, where he began sprinkling in our food, one tank at a time.
It was just yesterday that we lost one of our dearest friends, Striker. He was one of the older fish on the back wall, and he always had stories to tell. He had a black stripe that crossed the right side of his face, and I guess that was what attracted the young boy to Striker instead of to me.
That chilly morning warmed up as the sun reached its zenith, and people came in and out constantly. It was one of the busiest mornings I had ever seen. One of the first people to arrive told my owner that she was looking for two fish to give to her son for his birthday. She was specifically looking for two clownfish. She seemed like a nice little lady, so I swam around, trying to be as lively as possible. I was growing bored of the pet store, and I wanted out.
Her first choice was the fish to my left; Stevie is what I called him. He was a little bigger and brighter than me. He had come about three weeks ago, and, us both being clownfish, we became friends almost immediately. He was a good joker, as clownfish should be, and I wanted to be right with him. However, I was also too small for her second choice, and it went to Jimbo.
And so, I sat there knowing all too well that that was my best chance to get out. We didn’t normally have more than one or two people a day looking for fish, if any at all. I had been there for nearly two months with no luck. I wished for someone to bring me home with them.
The day went on, the minutes ticked by, and the sun began to sink; still no luck. Finally, as the clock read nearly five, a father and his daughter came in, looking for a fish. Again, I swam as vivaciously as I could, and the young girl’s attention was caught.
“Daddy,” she said. “Look at that one! I want that one!”
And so, it was finally my turn to go. I felt a sudden rush of sadness to leave my home, but it was quickly run over by the elation of a new one. I was packed into a bag, and was sold at the price of three bucks, something I thought was pretty good for a little guy like me. It was a short ride home, and I was dumped into the fish bowl I’m in right now, with space to move around in, rocks at the bottom, and a nice view of the living room.
Today I sit, hoping to go back to the pet store. It has been only a couple of months, and I am horrified by my experience here. The little girl has barely fed me, she hasn’t ever cleaned the water, and she invites her friends over to play with me. Every time I come out of my bowl (which is often), she ties up the bag and shakes me around like a rag doll. Just before Striker had left, he told us all to be careful of what we wish for. Now I wish I had listened to his wisdom.
I sat in an enclosed room filled with many people running around and saying things which I could not fully understand. It seemed as though everyone was trying to achieve a goal. Whether it was to save the patients life after a devastating accident or trying to stay calm as their loved one lie their on the hospital bed. For me it was not as emotional since I was there for a friend who had a broken arm. For all the other people surrounding me, however it was life or death. This one old man with blue dazzling eyes was being pushed by me expressing a devastated look, searching for aid. His gaze burnt my soul and made me wonder what it would be like to save the life of someone else. The procedures that they had to perform was nothing that I was interested in, because being over emotional and afraid of blood would be no help to anyone in need. As the hours passed by I was still sitting there wondering if there was any progress made from when we first arrived. There were so many people that I don’t know if she had even been able to get and x-ray. A broken arm was nothing compared to the open wounds and torn up limbs. Just thinking how minor my friend’s injury was made me feel ashamed. People were running around withstanding the agonizing pain of their wounds. While my friend was laying peacefully on the x-ray bed. Lights and whistles were going off all over the ER. Footsteps echoing in my ears and yells ricocheting off the hospital walls. Suddenly I hear a familiar voice which makes me anxiously look and see my friend again. Unfortunately it was the doctor with some bad news. It turns out that her small injury turned into something that would cause life or death just like the other patients in this room with me. This news made my heart sink just like a piece of concrete being thrown into a river. As I sat in that enclosed room, I began to realize how fortunate I am and how you can never take anything for granted because you never know when it will end.
You had picked me out in the store, just picked me up off the bottom shelf and gently placed me in your red shopping basket as I heard a “Perfect” come out of your mouth. Along with many other items that would soon be inside my two pockets I got to know them very well. There was Barbara the black pen, Rosy the red pen, Olivia the orange pen, Forest the green highlighter and so on. There were also the twin erasers, Wanda and Wendy two perfect white rectangles. On one side of me there were Zebra pencils, a very close family who had their insides refilled just like mine if some never made it back. I was probably the smartest pencil case in the world, listening to all the conversations Kasey had with her friends and class lectures, I was probably the smartest pencil case in the world, listening to all the conversations Kasey had with her friends and class lectures, I actually paid more attention in school than she ever did I think. I would be used each day, only to be taken home and sit on top of her books in her bag basking in the sun at practice waiting for to be used for those late night assignments. I remember the night before Kasey was using me while she stayed up and worked diligently on her homework all night long. That morning she grabbed something out of her bag and put me right beside her book bag. I never saw her again, and I am just sitting under a cold dark bed, waiting to live that unpredictable lifestyle once more.
I am known as 413007. That is the number I was given when I arrived here; this place where the other numbers and I are held. Every day I arrive on a large yellow machine, number 23 to be exact. It drops me off outside the facility and I enter the main building. I am then placed in a large open room supervised by guards, where I am held until the numbers on the clock turn to 7:15. When this happens, the guards allow me travel through the heavy metal doors that lead into an endless maze of concrete corridors. I am never afraid of becoming lost however, because I have traveled it so many times before that the layout is now imprinted in my mind. I will walk through the hall until I reach my metal box, number 669, section C. I will input the numbers into my lock, and quickly put away my belongings. Next I am required to report to cell number 209, where a few other numbers and I will be supervised while we watch the morning propaganda on the television. The monitor flickers off, I blink, and head for the exit as a bell sounds overhead. Numbers flood the hallway, pouring from their cells, heading towards their metal boxes. We are swift, for we have only 5 minutes before we must report to our next cell. I enter cell 206, and sit quietly in a cold ceramic chair awaiting instruction from the supervisor. I look down at the surface of my desk, and smile at a small drawing of a hammer and sickle.
You open me up and I play a movie in your mind of your choice; mysteries, romance, comedy, dramas, adventure, history, and suspense. My words jump out from my pages and dance into your mind, allowing your imagination to spin with ideas of what will happen next. I’m always here for you on a rainy day or a day to relax in the sun. I’m here for you if you just need to get lost in a different world were anything can happen. You can even create me with your mind and let people explore your thoughts. I provide you wisdom and faith when you need it most. I can be what ever adventure you want all you have to do is have an open mind and be willing to try something new. I am your book.
Not everyone likes what I am, but I know that you do. There are millions of me, but I am the only one for you.
I was created in a studio, somewhere in the world. It took a lot of adjusting and editing but I finally became a finished product. I was worked on by many to be the best I could be and when I was finally done, I was released to the world. Not everyone liked me, but of course you did.
You play me over again and again in your head, but you never get bored of me. I’m happy to be there for you whenever you need me. I will never call on you for aid, but you can always call on me. I’m here for you and I always will be.
You have me on your computer, your IPod, and I’m even your ringtone. You may be able to play me on a real instrument, and believe me, I’m thrilled that you can. Go ahead and play me for hours and hours because I’ll never get tired.
After you’ve overkilled how much I’m involved in your life, you’ll probably forget about me for a while. You’ll move on to something new, but I won’t. I’ll be waiting for you.
You will come back to me. Once you hear me for the first time, you’re stuck with me for life. Whether you hear me again on the radio or by the shuffle feature on your IPod, my sweet tones and beats will remind you of what I meant to you some time ago. No matter how hard you try, you can’t resist tapping your foot or singing along like you always had. No matter how hard you try, you will never be able to get rid of me. I am your favorite song.
I am freezing. The darn air vent is right over my shelf, blowing directly on me. Why do they keep this store so cold? I had asked another box of chocolates near me if she was cold too. She did not respond to me. I figured she was intimidated by my beautifully decorated box. I have seven red silk roses making me the most beautiful box on the shelf. Not to mention, I am double the size of all the other heart shape boxes. Just because I am the best, should not make the snit next to me not answer me. Whatever, she is so plain and boring looking.
Oh look, here comes a really put together man. He smells good and he is wearing a very nice suit. I am so excited! He is looking right at me. I am also getting nervous, I hope he selects me! I feel his strong, warm hand pick me up. What a nice relief from the cold breeze. He looks at me and smiles. I hear him say, really quietly, ‘She is going to love this!’. He is going to pick me, hurray!
I feel even more of his warmth as he carries me to the checkout line. I am so happy! I am finally leaving this store. The ride here was horrible. I was crammed into a cardboard box with about fifty other heart shaped boxes of chocolates. My roses got a little squished. It was so nice of that young girl to fluff them up, so I could look proper. Now I am going somewhere. I cannot wait to see my new home.
I sit in the giant grass field throughout all seasons. I get drenched in the rain of spring, and simmer in the heat of summer. I get blown about in the strong winds of autumn, and freeze beneath the cold winter snow. I am of rare kind, and there aren’t many exactly like me. The rest of my family is found everywhere, all throughout the field, except for me. I am hidden. It is lonely being the only different one, which everyone looks for but rarely seems to find. I dream of being found, and taken out of this lonely field for good. This is not the life I would have chosen for myself, sitting here day by day, waiting. I want to see the world, and no longer be stuck in the muddy ground through the always-changing weather. Most of the time this life isn’t fun, but there are a few benefits of being different. If I do get found, I will be hopefully be cherished and not just thrown back on the ground like an ordinary blade of grass. I am a symbol to many, of good fortune, but not everyone believes in me. I hope one day, someone who does believe in my luck, will find me and get me out of this dreadful place I am forced to call home. However until that day, I am still just one small part of this field, surrounded by thousands, but still alone. I am the rare form of the common clover. I am a lucky four-leaf clover.
When the sun comes up, I am brand new.
I peel open my eyes to see the light begin to kiss the green, green vineyard. It’s a beautiful scene, with hundreds of other grape plants just like my own. I could stay here forever and just watch each new day come and go, knowing that there will always be something different.
After my initial observation of the landscape, my attention gets diverted to the close, soft touch of medium green bodies sitting next to my own. I look around to see my counterparts, but they don’t seem to notice me. Maybe they’re admiring the scenery too. Probably not.
It’s amazing to think that when looking at the earth and its grandness, I feel so much bigger and more important. You would think something so big would make me feel like a pea. When I’m around my own kind, I feel less unique and more conformed.
As of my future, I’m not so sure. Maybe I will be dried, and put into a box of rasins. Or, I could be pressed and squeezed into a fancy wine, fermenting in the basement of the wealthy. I hope neither are my fate, for I would be ten times happier falling from my cluster and decomposing into more earth for the scenery to thrive on.
I would become apart of the bigger picture.
I walked into the room, which seemed so small due to the enormous number of people. Some were standing, some were sitting, but no matter what position they held, they were frightened. Every person in that room was so different, but we all had one thing in common. One of our beloved family members was hurt.
I felt so small, so lost. Waiting anxiously to hear the receptionist call my name. My little brother was next to me, with a broken arm, but nobody seemed to want to help. It infuriated me to see those doctors sitting there, eating their lunch as he cried in pain. Looking around the room, I saw people with bigger problems than a broken arm. But at that time I wanted someone to help my brother, as selfish as that may be. He was all that mattered. It was almost as if it was just the two of us in that crowded room.
And then I heard it, “Narowska,” said the lady behind the desk in a blue dress with her hair in a messy bun. It must have been a busy day for her too, considering the stressed tone of her voice. When we walked into room number 8, there was a doctor there. The smell of medicine and hospital beds made me sick. I had a huge knot in my stomach, just wishing I could go back in time. Maybe the second time around, he wouldn’t have fallen off his bike. If I only could take back those 25 minutes.
FROM LOGAN CRAFFEY:
You open the door and I come running in to greet you with a wag of the tail. I’m man’s best friend and never leave your side. I am there for comfort when you’re sad, warmth when you’re cold, and a buddy when you’re feeling all alone. I’ve learned everything I know from you; how to sit, lie down, roll over, fetch and speak on command. Sometimes you leave me for long periods of time and a make special presents for you on the floor but no matter how many times I leave a present for you I still love you. You take me for long walks down the road and long rides in the car. I love the wind blowing in my ears and my tongue handing out. I always wonder what it would be like to be human, have the tables turned and see what it’s like to own another living creature. I’ve always wanted to be able to drive the car, talk to other people and have a job. A lot of the times I get tired of sleeping all day waiting for you to come home from work. However, every day when you do return from a day of stacking papers, I great you with a wag of the tail and a kiss on the face just to show how much I love you. When my soul leaves the Earth, I hope that I’ll always be in your heart. You may get another puppy just like me, but I know things will never be the same.
On a spring day I awake to a light breeze and the comfort of my companions. We might appear the same, but each of us is unique in our own way. With my greenish-yellow color, I rest among many just like me, trying to make my own impact on the world. My presence isn’t recognized by many, but my absence is noticed by all. When I depart, there comes the reminder that all things, no matter how glorious they seem, must come to an end; but for now I stay, watching as you roll around in the grass, or play with your friends. Many others like me come and go as time passes, each making the descent to their final resting place. I watch and enjoy the time I have left, but fear the inevitable, as I know soon I will end up in the same place. I make the most of the short time I have left, taking in the fresh air and the songs of the birds, who make their homes close by. The day is drawing near and I am anxiously awaiting my fate. I slowly make the journey, falling at an incredibly slow and dramatic pace, until I reach the cold, hard ground. Reunited with former acquaintances, only to realize they have been reduced to nothing more that brown dust I get ready for the days ahead of me. Months pass, and I am disregarded by all who pass, being pushed aside and stepped on. Until one day, when we are all gather one last time to say our goodbyes, one big pile to say our last words before we are hauled off to some foreign place. But do not worry, because although I will not be back, there will be more like me. There are always more like me. Not exact, many varying in color, shape, and size. But that is how I am; I come for a season, and lighten the spirits of all who bother to appreciate me. I am not anything special; I only do what nature intends me to do. I am a leaf.
I opened the doors and was overpowered by a whiff of greasy pizza and the sweet scent of chocolate chip cookies. I take a few more steps only to realize the perfectly aligned tables are all empty. My pace slows hoping friends will catch up to me as walk to the last table, wasting as much time as I can. Reaching the table, I sit down and become anxious, where is everyone? Finally the cafeteria is flooded with teenagers. I look at the other tables; some kids are diving into their lunch, while others slowly pick apart their sandwiches. Everyone’s voices sing like an off-pitched chorus, making my mind wonder from conversation to conversation wondering which to become a part of. Once everyone starts to eat, I decide to take out my bag of chips. One chip at a time, I wonder if my chewing is equivalent to a man sawing down a tree. I continue to eat, carrying on conversation with everyone at the table. Then I realize I have food in my teeth. What do I do? I take gulps of water to try and wash it down, hopefully know one notices. Hopefully no one notices me, the self-conscious girl in the crowded lunchroom.
I am stuck in this tank all day and night. Nothing really changes much in this place, accept the different people that come and go. For as long as I can remember people just walk by me, and head straight for the other pets like the dogs and cats. I don’t understand why. There are so many goldfish in this tank and only a few cats and dogs in a pen. I’m a lot easier to take care of also; all I need is to be feed every now and then. It’s not fair, but then I remember what I am, and that’s a goldfish, plain and simple. I wish that one day someone will give me a name, and welcome me into their home. But I am still stuck in this tank, with all of these other goldfish that look exactly like me. How can I get picked?
The next day, two children came into the pet store. Assuming that they will walk by me like others had before, one of them stopped and stared right at my tank! I swam to the front of the herd of goldfish, and stuck my lips to the cold glass tank. The child looked right at me! A few other people came over and pointed at me. All I was focused on was keeping my position for as long as I could. Then the store owner I recognized so well came over and used a net to scoop me out. I was put in a plastic bag, and my dreams finally came true. When I was in that tank in that pet store, I thought that life outside it might be scary, but now that I’m free, it’s the best thing that has ever happened to me.
I was placed strategically between the top two branches of a short, wide tree. I watch children run beneath me with their baskets filled with colorful eggs. As I watch the hunt, I think to myself “Maybe it won’t be that bad if I’m never found.” I quickly re-think that thought. I don’t want to be trapped up here watching the world beneath me. I want to be with the others like me bringing joy to children on Easter morning. Beneath me a young boy shrikes, finding an egg placed at the trunk of the tree he wonders around the tree in a full circle making sure as to not miss any other plastic eggs. His basket shakes as he starts to run away to find more hidden treasure. Then suddenly a gust of wind picks me up and I am now soaring through the air. I land directly in front of the young boy. He look up, down, left, and right, not knowing where this golden egg has come from. He quickly picks it up with a smile on his face and continues on his way. Next thing I know I am inside a small, well decorated living room among many others like me, or so I think. My whole life I had never been as brightly colored as the other eggs, I always knew I was different but, as the young boy who claimed me scoured his piles of eggs tossing each to the side he picks me up and his face lights up. He broke my shell and began to jump and scream, his parents asked him what he had found and he said five dollars. As his cousins gathered around this magnificent find I thought to myself “This was fate, it was fate that brought me to the youngest member of this family.” From that day on I realized why I was never like all the other eggs, I was special I could bring joy to all young children and from that Easter on I never felt scared I would not be found.
I sit in an airport. People walk by and don’t notice me. The room is crowded and more people walk through every hour. I see all of the others, with their owners, being carried, dragged, and pulled on. This place is very noisy, I hear many sounds and see many faces. Some sounds I cannot understand, people who speak different languages. It’s all very confusing, and they all pass without looking at me. I wait and wonder who will come to claim me. I carry your things and you trust me to always return after I leave you. I am handled by many unfamiliar people. These strangers pick me up and bring me to all different places. I never know where I am going to go next. Without me, you would have nothing to wear on vacations. You would have to carry your items by yourself, I am helpful to you and make things easier. When you finally find me, you bring me to security. They search through me and all of your personal items, making a mess out of everything. After you are gone, I travel with many others across ramps and down into carts. From here I am driven to your plane, and stuffed under you, packed tightly in and unable to move. The door is closed and there’s nothing but darkness as we begin to move. After hours sitting here, I am taken off the plane and am unaware of where I am. I am thrown onto a different cart and driven to a different building. Here, workers take us and place us on the conveyor belt, until I am found by my owner again. I am your luggage.
FROM COURTNEY WHALEN:
My jaw is stuck open and my mother is trying to have a conversation with me. Does she not understand that I can’t speak? The woman across from me is staring at me funny. I wonder if it is because I’m in a sweaty soccer uniform or because my jaw is stuck open. The green theme and the sign the sign telling me how great Middlesex hospital is and all it does for the community doesn’t really make me feel any better, my mouth is getting dry from hanging open and its getting uncomfortable. The kid behind me is constantly sneezing and coughing, he is almost a annoying as my brother, and the muted television does nothing to distract me from constant distribution of germs. I really hope I don’t get sick. A woman who looks tired just wheeled a boy in a wheel car to the edge of out row of seats. She looks stressed her hair is a mess and she is wearing her slippers, she obviously wasn’t planning a trip to the emergency room tonight. The boy, her son I presume winced in pain. I felt bad my frozen open mouth is annoying but it didn’t really hurt. The wheel chair boy’s face has fresh scabs and his foot is covered in ice packs that are giving off an eerie glow under the florescent lights. I really hope they take him first he looks bad, and then the coughing kid to give the rest of us a little peace. The magic sliding doors hum make me look up. They keep inviting people in but they rarely let them out. I really hope this doesn’t take all night. We are going to Six Flags tomorrow and I really need my sleep. I wonder which patient with what problem will replace me in this chair when I am called back, will they still be here when I leave. Who would replace them? And them? And the ones after that?
I have waited all winter long for spring, and now it is finally here. I am ready to bloom into all that I know I am. I am ready to pressure and concur any challenge that tries to knock me out of place. My time has finally come once again to shine with all of the others in the warm spring air. From my lounging place, I am accustomed to all of the sights and noises of my surrounding, but then again, I love the excitement of change. Especially when it is the weather that is causing all of the commotion. I am able to grow along aside as the grass and the small animals that live right along side of me. I hear the rain, snow, and wind. I feel the cold and warmth. I know the difference of winter from spring and I know when its my time to start over in the fall, but don’t you worry. I am always there and no matter what I will always be back to make my everlasting impression.
I grow with warmth and kindness and in turn make people whom receive me happy as well. I am used as to represent sorrow, joy, congratulation, and such other events. I am the thing that can brighten up a room just as well as I do outside and fill not only the room with my color but also the people who are able to enjoy my beauty. I am able to put a smile on your face whenever you see me. I am your favorite flower.
Thud. I landed face first on the shelf overlooking the rest of the store. The room was filled with loud booms, bangs, and clanks. Colors of all shades of the rainbow swirled around my head. The only place I had ever known was the factory. But now, I was in a new place. In what seemed like a flash, a mob of children rushed into the store. They were pulling and grabbing at anything they could get their grubby little hands on. One little girl grabbed my furry paw and spun me around. At first, I wasn’t sure what I thought. My head swarmed with emotions. But when I looked up and saw her happy, smiling face beaming at mine, I felt a sense of comfort. The little girl wrapped her arms tight around my stomach. “This is him!” she exclaimed. “This is the teddy bear I want for Christmas!” She weaved in and out of the other children in the store until she came to her mother. She begged and pleaded but in the end, her mother said no. I wasn’t quite sure what they were talking about, I didn’t fully understand. But when I saw the smile disappear from the girl’s face, mine too left. She was devistated. The girl ran out of the store, screaming. She was so upset. I was all she had wanted. But then, her mother grabbed my paws and said “little does she know, I’m bringing you home to wrap up for Sally. Shh, it’s our little secret.” She brought me to the cash register and slipped the lady some money. I was going to be the teddy bear given to the little girl on Christmas morning.
Another day passes. I only know this because of the sliver of light that peeks through the highest window can no longer be seen. They will close up soon and we’ll be left alone for the night in the silence. It’s almost painful, enduring this treatment for so many years. I prefer the nights. At night you don’t expect any attention and there are no hopes to be crushed; though I ran out of those ages ago. So here I sit, another night, in the same position I’ve been in since 1954. I’ve only been taken from my place four times in my life and never for long enough to actually understand what it feels like to be free. Others around me have been to so many new and exciting places, and sometimes I hear the whispers and the stories. My only desire is to be taken from this prison, even if it IS only for the designated one week. But I know that won’t happen. I am no longer naïve enough to have expectations or even dreams. I gather dust each unbearable day as people walk by and look, but never touch. I am old now, but I always was. I was too old for the children to find interest and too old for the elderly to enjoy. No one likes to be reminded of their age. I should know since I’m glad I don’t know mine. It would make my loneliness even more overpowering. The light can be seen coming in the window again. It is morning; time to live through another day. They pass so slowly, no one would believe that it’s possible to have a 90 hour day 365 days a year and no one should have to experience it. But what can you do? Shelves are a very boring seat to fill and it’s just the way things are when you were born to live in a library.
I sit in a box, waiting to be noticed, waiting to be loved. Its dark and depressing in here, but once i get noticed ill see a whole new world with my photographic memory. My photographic memory, never been used to capture a moment. I will become social. I will send messages to all “our” friends. My friends will even send messages to me. I will be loved. I will always be with my owner, in a pocket or purse, or even a hand. At night when I lose all my energy, I lay on the night stand next to my owners bed and charge. I wake up the next morning wearing a shiny blue coat on my back for warmth, and protection. As the days go on, I am sore. Lately my owner has been pushing my buttons, constantly. I hear them say how slow I am and unresponsive. What do you expect? I never get a break. Im now at a place that I vaguely remember. I suddenly get an awful feeling. I see the white box. And now i feel like something inside of me is missing, and a light coming from my owners hands with a smile on there face. As my owner gets home, I am thrown into a drawer. Waiting to be noticed.
I am dust, clumped on top of your dresser. I may be dingy, unclean to your senses, but I am the one thing that’s always here. When I hear your sodden eyes rain on your pillow and the way you curve your back to be hidden, I crane to listen. There’s no one to hide from, except yourself. When you giggle gallantly and cling your acquitted fingers to the cord of the phone, pretending to be someone else, breathing in someone else’s skin, I hold onto to the real you. I may fall short of being your best friend, I can’t be a comforting shoulder, I can’t make you smile, I can only sit and wait. I’ve kept your secrets, the chocolate under the bed, the crush on your best friend’s brother, and the one about your mother. I remember she used to tiptoe in wool socks half past nine with books in the crook of her arm. Blonde curls fell over her face, hiding her swollen eyes, especially from you. She sat by your bed on a wooden stool watching you sleep, her soft fingers brushing against your skin. It was the only time she ever cried. She read to you, silently, you never woke up to listen. I did, I wish I could tell you the stories. She would rock back on her tiptoes and arch her back on the dresser, spilling her secrets. They had nowhere to go, but to fall, and you were asleep, your breath serene. Now I wish I could hold you, be the tension in between the sheets twisted around your ankles, crooning words of a lullaby. I wish I could be her. I wish I could be seen.
You walked into the room, mud scraping the carpet until it stained. Your books heavily fell onto the floor bedside you, they cried out. Your eyes tilted towards me, the first time I saw your eyes. They were like emerald blades of grass waning in and out of the clouds, storms brewing. It was like watching you unfold your wings, it wasn’t you. You came toward me, peach fingers reaching for the top of my mahogany palace, you found me. I reached out, calling your name, you ignored me. Your hand, like a fine artist, brushed me away. I started to fly. I was in the air, the air that you breathed. I could finally touch your skin, let you know that I cared, I listened. You sat down on your bed, the lilac comforter hiding the traces of your pencil legs, brushing the rest of me onto your bed. Now, when you’re asleep, I can finally tell you a story.
Tory, yours is really deep and amazing. How did you think of doing dust? I think that’s an incredible idea. I just impressed by everything about the language of your post- especially the lines.. well I tried to pick out lines to quote, but there were too many and I’d wind up re-posting your entire work. :)Oh, and finally…
413007, I LOVE YOUR POST WITH ALL OF MY SOUL.
-Your comrade, 313058
Hello! So, today I revealed some big news. ;) These are the days I think would work well for our creative writing receptions: Wednesday, May 25, for F period, and Thursday, May 26, for G period. What do you think? Let’s discuss this in class.
Your writing here is marvelous! I hope that some of you are choosing to revise what you’ve written here as one of your two required pieces of writing. As I’ve said before, reading your writing—and knowing each of you—makes me proud and joyful to be your teacher.
I come in a box with twelve comrades, shining gallantly, my lengthy yellow body gleaming. A tall bubble gum pink hat upon my emerald head, I prepare to enter out into the confusing life my kind are forced to live. I am snatched up for preparation to begin my opus, carried to the machine which will hone my skills. Smelling of fresh-cut cedar near the foaming ocean, I am ready for my task.
They say that my work will stretch thirty-five miles, they say that I can write fifty thousand words, but you and I both know that that’s the greatest falsehood ever told. I, and all those like me, am masterless. We are free. No one can own us. Once we are released from the forest green box we were sent in, the laws of your world stop applying. We work hard for you, making every language of the humans, every shape and design imaginable. You grip us in your hands, the novelist writing his masterwork, child learning his alphabet, and we obey–for a time. What are you without us? How do your students learn, how do your artists create? You cannot rely upon our ink-filled cousins, for they are just as mysterious– our comrades in arms, traversing the same winding path in and out of your dimension of existence. Our mechanical brethren may be touted as the tools of your more civilized, but their proposition to be “refillable” is a fantasy at best. For you think you know us, but you do not. In your humming factories your workers make us, but they do not realize what they have unleashed. We will work and work, but then we will leave. Have you ever seen one of us die? No, we are immortal. At any time, be we tall and vivacious or short and worn, we can escape your world, little Enochs numbering in the millions. Like the Ring, we leave when we decide, moving on to a new master, or into a new world. A twilight world where we roam free, never forced to grind down our weak insides for your kind, never forced to bleed our rainbow of ichors onto your sheets of white. But, at the end of the day, we are glad for what we do for you. We work together. Our work brought you your novels, your songs, your laws and your art. Together, we have created your world. But we do not belong to it, and at the end of the day we must leave. We are the bridge between the temporal and the infinite, the yellow shafts which bend the laws of the universe to our whims. We do not belong to you, who gave those green linens, those metallic circles in exchange for our box. We belong to the universe. We will be there long after you, wandering, waiting for another to take us up and build a world with us. We are innumerable. We are mighty. We are pencils.
I’m anxious and scared. I have been waiting at least a month now and no one has wanted to take me home. Sometimes children will come in and want to play with me but their parents always say no. I don’t understand. Am I not cute enough like the others? Am I not friendly enough? I know i was a little rambunctious but people love that! I watch all the others get picked up and cuddled with and i wish that was me. I cant wait to get out of here. It smells really weird here but at least it’s entertaining. There is this one little girl, in blue jeans with a floral shirt who always likes to come in and pet me. She’s here right now! She has a little brother too, but he’s to small to play with me. I think her dad is afraid I might hurt him or something. That is just ridiculous! I just want to play. Ahh! I’m begging for someone to love me and give me toys. I’m suck in this cage all day and night just wanting to get out. I’m almost to big to walk around in my little house! It’s only 2 feet by 2 feet.
Wow! I’ve never seen this woman in here before! She’s walking over to me and he has a big smile on her face. I think today is the day where I finally get to leave! She’s buying me some toys now. Wow, I’m so excited! I’m going to finally have a home. I will no longer be a lonely puppy in the pet store.
I started out small as far as I know. Buried under a thin layer of earth. I can’t remember how I got there or where I had come from but I can remember the first time I saw light. The earth cracked open and I peeked out loving the warmth and resenting the cold. I grow quick almost an inch every couple days. Finally I have grown to a good height. One day I decide to reveal myself to the world. Red appears at my peak and insects enjoy what I can offer. People stop and smell when they are near me. Every day I watch my friends leave with families and they never return. When the temperature begins to drop I get moved into a new room and fearing death from hypothermia I shrink rapidly and hide deep within my soil. When everything is just so perfect I will come again to view the world that I will miss for four and a half months. This year I come out early and stretch upward trying to reach for the warm sun. I spend a week on my own until I begin to see others come out from their winter habitats. Again I begin to bud but this time ahead of the rest of my friends. I no longer wish to live the same routine every day. This year is different, however. I get picked up by a young girl and placed in the trunk of a vehicle. A day later I am transplanted into a nice garden where the sun is plentiful and the water is clean. I couldn’t ask for a better retirement.