Good afternoon all!
The following piece was written in 10 minutes – free flow, in the voice of the object (the bird ornament which is featured in the photo below!). This exercise was an option for the group during the Creative Writes workshop on Wednesday. So here is my attempt! No editing, just writing. Have a try!
I am
I am a curious object, meant as an object of desire perhaps? But how can I be an object of desire when I’m so vulgar? And what use am I? I won’t look you in the eye properly and my stature is awkward. Do I have secrets and stories? Of course, we all do don’t we? I sit permanently on my faux wooden perch. I am made of fake colours and fake substances yet I question the dreams I am made of, those I think are real. I witnessed so many tears and so much laughter – soaking up the substance of Auntie Leanne’s house. I saw her children grow and leave and I witnessed her slow down. Slow down to my pace, almost immobile with the occasional flicker of an eye in deep slumber or a head nod – as she sat in her rocking chair by the fire. The heartache of her children became her heartache. When Sophia was left by her partner as they travelled through Africa before their planned marriage that autumn – when her eldest and beautiful daughter with her sheet of striking black hair and piercing brown eyes was heartbroken, it reverberated all the way back here to the sitting room in Morden and instantly caused a crack in the wall. No Plasterer could ever repair this crack which leaked damp tears until Auntie Leanne ceased to nod her sleeping head.