Point of view of an object.
Libraries: OneShots, OriginalFiction
Published on / 1 Chapter(s) / 4 Review(s)
A friend had a writing assignement and he had to write a one page story about the point of view of an object. I had an idea about the first thing that came to my eyes. I wonder if you can guess my object?
I lay here, forgotten. For hours, days, sometimes months. When I roll in dark places sometimes I lose track of the time and stare into the blackness, the nothingness, losing myself. I wait. There is nothing for me to do. I can only watch. Dust gathers, bugs creeping past me, uncaring as I stare and wait.
Time is nothing.
Sometimes the darkness lifts and light pierces my eye. Joy mingling with the pain. Once I'm out of the abyss I never remain idle. I soar in the air, I live, I am. My purpose is fulfilled. I hit surfaces and fast I soar into the air. Laughter reaches me, never my own, but it is there.
Again and again. I hit the floor, I bounce, I hit the wall, I bounce. I bounce.
Laughter around me as my speed and power to return to the hand that held me amazes. My path gets suddenly short; the repeated pattern of hand, wall, hand, wall, forever it seems in a concentrated cadence of reflexion. But I care not. For I am at least. The hand abandons me and I fall forgotten to the ground, rolling to a stop. Something white and furry comes near me, prodding me. With a tap I roll and a weird dances ensues, I am thrown from side to side, rolling. I see claws, and pointy teeth. I see ceiling and floor and fur and then the darkness returns once again. In the dark I always go back it seems. My purpose is always short. My built making it impossible for me to remain in one place except for the dark. Fingers reaching for me I embrace the light again and for an instant I am the centre of the world again but I bounce once and my bouncing gets smaller and smaller and smaller until I move no more. I am in the light. I see a carpet, a small table. I am not moving, I am in the light and I am not moving. How I long to be able to bounce again and again. To feel myself hit the walls in a fast bouncing rhythm. Tiny, clumsy fingers grasp me, presses me, scratches me. I feel wet and warm as I see tiny teeth. They sink into me, trying to see how my power works, how I am able to soar into the air and how I bounce. An inconsequential garble reaches me, and I know I will never be able to bounce properly again. Words of chastisement fly around me, I am removed from my trap and to the ground I fall. I do not move, I do not roll, I do not bounce. I simply lay. I am without any purpose. Fingers reaches for me again and I know in the dark I shall go and remain forevermore.
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