It’s all close to me. Nature. I can give you my perspective. An object‘s perspective. I can feel through my senses, those which are abstract, which don’t exist in the current laws of physics. But I’ve all those senses which humans have. Now you know which ones I recall. However, if you wish to see it from their perspective, I’d look different.
Well, all they do is ignore the world all around them. They ignore us as well. Right now, I lie somewhere amid the trees on the ground, somewhere in the forest. It’s cold out here, and dark. But the moon is bright. I try to stay safe from the creatures that lurk in the dark. I assure you, over here, the world becomes alive at nightfall, and sleeps at dawn. The wind flows all around, the sound hooting like a call of the wild. There are more of me all around, but they look like they’re hibernating since the time I’ve been here. Oh, I forgot to tell you how I reached here. Okay, here it goes then. I won’t scare you of the ride you travel in time with me. It’s more of a roller coaster ride with ups and downs in my life. Ah, I won’t put you in boredom any more. Well, here it is.
When I saw for the first time, everything looked organised and perfect. I stood on some polished tree, I thought. It was smoother than I’d expected. There were various other objects on it as well besides me. After glancing in all directions, I understood I was over a table or a showcase. But it wasn’t with delay when I found out, my owner a little girl, had walked inside her room. And the room was shockingly huge. Thousands of me would fit into this room. I realised it was the girl’s bedroom, it’s walls painted in pink with stars in white, gold and green colours. There was a bed across one side of the room, and a closet on the other. I presumed I was either on a shelf or a table, most probably the latter.
After some days and months, Lucy, her name, would come beside me and play with some of the objects lying over the table. They weren’t toys she played with. There was a Rubik’s cube at the far end which looked like it had remained unsolved. A chessboard stood in the centre of the table with chess pieces placed as if a game was already in progress. There were times she’d swear when she made an error while playing. Sometimes she would play alone on both sides, while at others it would be her father. A few books sat on the opposite corner of the table. From the looks, I assumed they’d be textbooks for her school. But it was more. She would involve in reading several books. I would appreciate her way of life. I could feel she would be intelligent when she grew up.
Years passed by. Lucy had celebrated her 19th birthday. Her interest in books had grown up more than ever. There would be book shelves running all over across her room. And then she’d started with a new trend of writing. I always wondered what she worked on so much, and what made her to write on and on for hours. At times, she’d be awake at night and keep writing, until she would sleep on the sheets of paper itself. Oh, she was beautiful. There was a glow on her face, even in the night with only the night-light of the room. And I felt honoured to be a part of her life somehow. I was glad to have her as my owner. She wouldn’t react or behave irrationally. I never saw anger on her face. And she’d be happy all the time.
There was one time, when Lucy’s father Solomon, put me inside a box. I managed to hear him speak with Lucy. And with luck, I managed to look outside the box through a small hole.
“Why do we have to leave daddy?”, she’d cried. I guess Lucy had lived here since birth.
Solomon sat beside Lucy and put his hands around her. Lucy was sobbing. He said, “Sweetheart, we need to go to a different town where I’m offered a job. I’m sure you’ll find friends there as well.” He placed his hands over her face and looked into her eyes before he spoke again. “You’ll enjoy it there. You can go to many different places. There’ll be huge libraries and bookstores. And communities that share common interests.”
Lucy had leant on her father’s chest. That was the first time I saw her tears. She’d felt sad about leaving the place. Most of the books lay inside other boxes.
In time, all I knew was that everything was shaking. I’d hoped everything was fit properly inside the pickup truck. It felt so much alive during the drive. The breeze passed through the box. I could hear a few other cars and buses honking their horns at times. Then there were times when suddenly I felt jerks, as if I’d leapt above ground. After a few hours of my journey, I think we were riding smooth along the highway. Heat started to melt out a few objects lying within the box I shared with. The temperature was high. We halted at various locations on our journey.
Coming back to reality, I think something huge passed over me. I was under much pressure. I tried, but I couldn’t help it. I broke into pieces. Hey, don’t give up on me now. I can still speak. What’s broken of me equal to your hands and legs. The only part that helps me is that I don’t feel pain like you do.
A moment later, I am thrown at a long distance. At first glance, I could see myself rising along the trees. As I look behind, I see a man standing and looking in my direction. And then I’m off over an edge of a cliff. I try to scream, but it’s only in my head. I can’t speak a word as I don’t have a physical mouth. Fear strikes me like thunder. I’m flying high. I can see a sparkling river below. And it’s surrounded with trees all over. And I was travelling in one of the directions close to the riverside. Oh, I wished I would not to fall into the river. Fear sparked inside my mind. I’d never been underwater. I wondered whether I might survive in there. What if, others like me would’ve died once they went below water.
I shot down, speeding up towards the ground below. All I did was close my eyes and tried not to think of it. I crashed through the canopy of trees, banged onto a couple of branches and fell to the ground. I’d thought I would’ve died by now. But that wasn’t the case. I opened my eyes to see the river right in front of me. The trees lay right on one side, while the river stood on the other. The round smooth surface of my body had decreased, my body damaged. No other parts broke but for scratches. The ride I’d taken was life-threatening, but it was the most thrilling ride I’d ever taken in my life. I doubt whether I’d ever have such a chance. In fact, I wonder how many of me would have had a chance to fly in the air at such great heights.
I want to thank you for being with me all this way. I’d thought you left me for good, or maybe you’re bored with me. But I’m glad you’re still here. I can only hope it wasn’t you who threw me over the distance. I don’t wish to offend you, but you can imagine it right, the idea could be true. But no worries, I’m not going to accuse you of it. Cause you wouldn’t be here if you’d have had thrown me from up there. And I thank you for that.
Anyway, I was telling you my story. Where was I?
Oh yes, we stopped at various places between. Then there were rides where I felt as if pushed to different sides irregularly. It was intolerable. I wished I could scream at my owners to stop the torture I was going through. Hours had passed as the car rode in curves, taking lefts and rights all the time. It made me feel as if riding through the mountains and gave me a queer feeling of vomiting. Good enough for me, I didn’t have a mouth to spill anything out. After a few hours of ride, I sat out with my friends over a table. It was new and made from ebony. Both of them, Lucy and Solomon looked tired from their journey. And most of the stuff they had brought over remained within the boxes.
A few more years passed by. Lucy had published a few books by now. ‘Great Works of the Infamous’, a non-fiction book, and ‘Slaughtering Dungeons’, a fantasy adventure fiction. Few of Lucy’s friends had borrowed the book to read and they’d enjoyed it. Lucy’s father would verbally market her book on non-fiction, and speak of it with great interests to his colleagues at work. Occasions came when Lucy would pick me up from her desk and revolve me repeatedly. Sometimes she would speak to me on matters I wouldn’t understand.
“I wish I could make her drink poison and suffer the most until her last breath gave out.”, she’d speak, turning to look outside the window which filled her view with dense forest trees and bright skies.
I could only wonder why Lucy would think of such ideas. But as days put on more weight, I understood it meant for one of her characters within the story she was writing.
But the worst was yet to arrive. I can never forget the day when it happened. It surprised me. Lucy had hurried home and she seemed frustrated about something. I never knew why. Her anger had come up on her face. She messed up her room, and threw objects in all directions. She broke the vase given by a friend when she was in school, threw out the window a few of her makeup stuff as well. At one time she almost took me into her grasp, wouldn’t it be for the hairbrush, that she threw it at the lamp next to her bed. But my horror came out to be true when she picked me up and walked out of the house. She faced the forest and cannoned me up and away into the trees. And I had rocketed up, but not high enough to reach above the canopy of trees. I hit myself hard on a tree branch and fell to the ground. From there on, gravity pulled me on as the slope made me revolve and I slid down thumping and bumping a few times over rocks and roots.
Well, that was when I felt hurt the most. Lucy had kept me since she was a child. Many years has passed and she’d kept me close all the while. She’d used me for so many ways, besides holding down a bunch of papers from flying around. She’d pick me up and speak to me of her daily stuff she’d done at school. Sometimes she would let me know of a few secrets she hid from her friends and her father. She had felt stressed out almost everyday whenever she went to college and after the strenuous work when she went to office.
How can I say I knew her so much, you’d ask me? I wouldn’t. It either is true and I don’t have anything to prove it, or could be a pinch of my imagination I’m punching out at you. But it’s yours to decide on that. I couldn’t force you what the truth is. I’ve been living next to this river for a few hours. And as minutes go by, I assume the rise in the water level will eventually drown me. And I’m nervous about it. I wonder whether it’ll be painful or feel like a bliss. I give you my thanks for accompanying me on my final journey. I hope you’ll care about all the objects that belong in whatever form it’s shaped in.
My best wishes to you my friend. With the increasing river level, I can smell humidity gain closer and closer. I can feel the touch of the drops falling over me at random. It may only be a matter of minutes when I progress towards a different life.
Why oh why, I forgot to let you in on something important. I don’t even recall introducing myself to you. Or have you understood what I am in through human perspective?
The inspiration comes from the Daily Post Challenge. Feel free to go through other entries here:
- My Favourite Thing | So Here’s Us…
- My Full Circle of the Personal Analysis Bureau | Ever Upward
- Haiku Trio | A Full Cup of Tea
- The 6th of March 1997 – Fishkill, New York | Forgotten Correspondance
- Post-it-Note | The Shady Tree
- Frying Pans And A Knife | Glorious Results Of A Misspent Youth
- Object of Connection | Through The Eyes Productions
- tattered pages | from dreams to plans
- These Boots Are Made For Working | Finale to an Entrance
- Do It Everyday? | davidriswanto
- My treasured trinket | tornin2’s Blog
- Wooden Letters | British Chick Across The Pond
- OBJECT OF DESIRE | Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner
- New Socks Insult My Intelligence | Bumblepuppies
- Pinwheel in motion | Emovere
- Objectively Cooking | Life’s Unfiltered Ramblings
- My camera | Scent of Rina
- Doing the dishes | MoreThanMelts
- Oranges are the only fruit | litadoolan
- Far from Eden | field of thorns
- Treasured Objects Travel Time and Distance | Sherrey Meyer, Writer
- Freedom from the proverbial “Cone of Shame” | GODism’s
- Hands in Her Pockets | Snapshots in Words
- Contrast | The Spicy Marshmallow
- The Last Resort! | lukewarmisblogging
- Music Box | For Lack of Paper
- Daily post: OBJECT | Melanie Ryding – Ryding2Health BLOG
- A Little Something «ostiumunity ostiumunity
- Weekly Writing Challenge – Object – 24 FEB 2014 | Joe’s Musings
- The Frying Pan Incident (DP Weekly Writing Challenge: Object ) | Ana Linden
- Suicide no. 29: Snowflake | derekalanwilkinson
- Different Life | History of a Woman
- Dunlop Jazz III Pick Revisited | Ako Si Ehm Blog
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object, 27.02.14 | Markie’s Daily Blog
- Wisdom to live by (weekly writing challenge-object) | Tales of a slightly stressed Mother!
- The Daily Post – Weekly Writing Challenge: Object « Mama Bear Musings
- A blaze of comfort on a crowded plane with crying babies and grumpy passengers « psychologistmimi
- Swag bag | How to Play House
- Ten minutes in the life of a doll | Divya Kumar’s Blog
- An Object Is Never Just an Object | A. B. Davis
- DCK’s Personal Demon: Ich bin ein Ziploc Bag | Getting DCK for Dummies
- My Old Basketball Warmup Jersey | Rooted in Christ
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | DragonReader
- I Object to Luck « eternal Domnation
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Niki’s Thoughts
- Weekly Writing Challenge: OBJECT | Chiquitita
- Child’s Play | Artfully Aspiring
- SWEET DREAMS ARE MADE OF THESE | Words We Women Write
- This Jacket |
- Picture | Shawn’s Open Journal
- The Spanish Pomegranates | Himanshisingh’s Blog
- The Toolkit | Corned Beef Hashtag
- The 16th of May 1973 – Louisville, Kentucky | Forgotten Correspondance
- The Toys | awordofsubstance
- The Chocolate Drawer | Glorious Results Of A Misspent Youth
- The Suitcase in the Attic | by LRose
- May I Have License to State the Obvious? | by L. D. Rose
- Fire, fire, the object of my desire | Stories from aside
- Glasses | jlopez05391
- Objecting – Rose Glace’s Blog
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Be Good.
- The Clock | Yowza, Here We Go!
- Cookies and the smell of rain | Project Momentarily
- Unspoken Word’s With… HER | Eclecticfemale’s Blog
- Miss Neglected | dandelionsinwind
- Rita | Paper Plane Pilots
- The Drawer | The Adventures of Cat Madigan
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object ( Curtains and A Room with a View ) | Because…..
- Silver leaves | Window on my world
- My Descent into “Mom Jeans”
- From the Jade Buddha | krstokely
- An open letter to editors | Butterfly Mind
- I don’t have a caffeine problem, and neither do you | Never Stationary
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | JGTravels
- The Do Over Train | melissuhhsmiles
- Join me for a writing challenge at The Daily Post | Butterfly Mind
- Doormats Insult My Intelligence | Bumblepuppies
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | A mom’s blog
- Injecting object | Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me
- The Coat of Many Pockets | Musings of a Soul Eclectic
- Approaching your 30′s with a big question mark? | Sober Rants
- Apology Issue #1 | Doe Words
- #DPChallenge; The Music | thepanicpersona
- Weekly Writing Challenge: The Object | Chronicles of an Anglo Swiss
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object – Andrea | sailingthroughthefog
- An afternoon (inspired by a true story) | The Bohemian Rock Star’s “Untitled Project”
- Him | Emily Schleiger
- DP Challenge: Object. My camera. | cockatooscreeching
- The Can of Sardines | I’m a Writer, Yes I Am
- The Red Pen | Sleep Less, Write More
- Sparkle | Master Of Disaster
- whodunit mystery solved | Musings of a Random Mind
- WWC: Object | Simple Heart Girl
- Egg UKO | flour mill reflections
- A Little Purple Ring | theauthorwhoknows
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | imagination
- Talent Show | The Library Lady and Rosie Bear
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object: My Grandma’s Hanky | Reflections and Nightmares- Irene A Waters (writer and memoirist)
- Daily Prompt: Writing Challenge | The Road Less Travelled By
- Comforting pain | fifty5words
- WWC: Fenghuang | Kingdom of Sharks
- you are a box of | y
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Pope plates | Life of A Fallen Angel
- Weekly Writing Challenge: The Object Of Desire… | Mirth and Motivation
- Dirty Dishes | Etienette
- Alcove | My name is Ellie and this is who I am.
- The Short Ones Object (v.) | Mary J Melange
- Roadside Assistance (Fiction) | Toss the Typewriter
- Product Testing | The Zombies Ate My Brains
- The Coin | Mileventwelve
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Sarah Alison
- Growing up in a Rickshaw | The Lesser Canine
- Scaring Myself Out Of—and Back Into—Writing | Imperfect Happiness
- Pieces of Us | loveletterstoaghost
- Volcanics « mediumblackdog
- until the stars stop | y
- A Rockstar To Get Me Through The Day | Lifestyle | WANGSGARD.COM
- I miss my microwave | Crap I Blog About
- DPchallenge: Object | tnkerr-Writing Prompts and Practice
- Mr Seah (dotcom!) | Rainbows (a short story)
- BEWARE OF FLYING UMBRELLAS | SERENDIPITY
- HOT POTATO | Fit 4 Life, LLC
- The Evil Calculator | Alexia Jones
- My Daughter’s Balloon | Sentiments of a Working Mom
- The blue bicycle | the REmissionary
- Subjectification | Blue Loft
- The Wooden Walking Stick: Dangers of Getting Comfortable with Comfort | Thorough and Unkempt
- Alarm | Stealing All the Sevens
- I Dreamed About Avril Lavigne | THE BLACK SPAGHETTI CHRONICLES
- Tigger: an object – Weekly Writing Challenge | alienorajt
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object – Seat: 49B | SA:ME (사메)
- The Lurker’s List | The Bum’s Newspaper – A Day in the Life of a Bum
- The Blog Farm | Weekly Writing Challenge: The Object Of Desire…
- This Room | My Newingness
- An object lesson in writing? | First Person: a novel
- A 100 days to a new me: Day 9, where did the roses go? | Rebranding Life
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Of Glass & Paper
- Me, the Fockers and a Cosmo. | Hope* the happy hugger
- Bicycle Balancing Act | Wright Outta Nowhere
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | medicinalmeadows
- Three Red Chairs | The Silver Leaf Journal
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object – My Grandma’s Reindeer | Blogizing
- Can You Hear Me Now? | thatchristalgirlsblog
- L’Object de Superflu | Perceptive Pot Clueless Kettle
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Morrighan’s Muse
- DP Challenge: ONLY IF SOME BOOKS COULD SPEAK | one hundred thousand beats per day
- Second-Hand Tsukumogami | Fish Of Gold
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Just Be V
- Teachings from my Grandmother | Ramblings From a Frazzled Mind
- Take a bite | 101 Challenges in 1001 Days
- If those dentures could talk. | Trucker Turning Write
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | To Breathe is to Write
- Tiny Buddha | Butterfly Mind
- Hobbies Emerge from Odd Places | Inside the Mind of Isadora
- Unlocking A Secret | CCFordWords
- Five objects that I’m packing into my suitcase | Chilling in Chile
- Weekly Writing Challenge: Object | Lady K’s Lounge
- Minding the day. | jenny’s lark
- Chasing The Disc | Good2begone
- Writing prompt | hkirtz’s Blog
- A painter’s passion | A picture is worth 1000 words
- Being Up-Cycled | Life is a Journey
- morning meditation | nightmare of daytime
- FINDING MR. RIGHT | DANDELION’S DEN
- ‘DP Challenge: Object’ – The Light, The Dark. | Victoria.K.Gallagher
- Weekly writing challenge: Object | My world
- Statue ~ | Maverick Mist
- Using FBI Documents when Writing a Mafia Memoir (Chapter Nine) | reinventing the event horizon
- Bluebeary (DP Challenge) | jennsmidlifecrisis
- Offerings | Be Less Amazing
- A day in life of a wall-clock | sparky&gloomy
- The Fantasy Tree | So I want to be an author…