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If you signed up for a writing dare (https://kingdompen.org/forums/topic/writing-dares/#post-14246), you can post it here, if you want to. 🙂
- Rank: Eccentric Mentor
- Total Posts: 1486
I was dared by @gretald over at the writing dares thread to write from the perspective of a two-month old baby who is faced with a terrible decision. For some reason I thought I was to write from the perspective of a two-month old who was faced with a terrible problem, not a decision. So I only wrote half the dare. Whoops.
Anyway, here’s my short story. Thank you Greta for the dare and I hope you guys like it!
Eli and the shiny“There you go my wittle Eli.”
I grin and coo as my mommy lays me on my belly atop a square patch of blanket. I set my chin down on the softness. My head is sooo heavy.
A sound rings out from another room.
“I’ll be back, Eli.” Mommy turns away.
“Eh?” Where is she go….
Look at that!
A small something lays in front of me. It’s round and shiny. I want it.
But how am I going to get it? I tilt my head to the side and look at my arm. I had used it before. But I don’t want to just touch the shiny. I want to eat it.
How can I bring it to me?
I turn my head back and stare at the shiny. My eyelids start to droop. Maybe I have time for a nap before….
No! I want the shiny thing. I blink. It is still there, sparkling.
I raise my head and reach for it.
Wait a moment; when did that happen?
At the end of my arms something moves! They are chubby and small, the same light color as my arms. I close one. Then I open it. Amazing! I don’t remember having these. I open and close them again and again. They are so cool! I shall call them grabbers.
I pull my attention back to the shiny. My head is getting heavy again, so I give it a rest. After a moment I take a deep breath and lift my head again, reaching for the shiny. I am almost there. I can almost touch it.
But I’m too far away. I drop my head, arm still outstretched, and glare at the thing. I want to eat it! Then something enters my line of sight that makes my mouth drop. What is that?
The thing is furry and is slinking its way toward me on four legs. It glances at the shiny thing.
“Meow.” It says. It wants it too.
But I want it more.
“Awah!” I tell it to back off.
The meow ignores me, coming closer to my shiny.
I lift my head and push myself forward with all my strength. I almost have it, but so does the meow.
We reach for it, the meow with one of its four legs, me with my grabbers. I can see the black slits of my enemies eyes, can see its pink nose twitch.
“AHH!” with a massive lunge I grab the shiny and collapse.
The meow hisses and runs away.
Ha ha, take that meow! I glance at the door to make sure I am alone, then bring the shiny to my mouth.
“Eli, what do you have?”
I am suddenly lifted into the air and cradled in my mommy’s arms. Her head is big. Does she have trouble holding it up?
“Oh, Eli, you found my ring!”
I watch, helpless, as mommy pries the shiny out of my grabbers. But it is mine! I open my mouth to protest…..
What is that?
Another shiny dangles from mommy’s ear. I want it.
I want to eat it.- Rank: Eccentric Mentor
- Total Posts: 1486
@sarah-h Thanks 🙂
- Rank: Eccentric Mentor
- Total Posts: 1486
Thanks @Gretald! yea I like that part too. 🙂
@winter-rose This is supremely adorable and hilarious, Gabrielle! You did a speculator job of writing from an infant’s perspective. ????
So I did a few writing dares… like, 4. So I think I’ll post them in a few different posts.
@dragon-snapper Here is what came to mind about a dog who only eats lemon chicken and drinks sweet tea.“You’re unbelievable, you know that?”
Of course I know that. I delight in it.
My human glares down at me, as if he knows what I’m thinking.
I smile up at him, panting, and hang my tongue out of my mouth in an attempt to get him to lighten up.
He doesn’t. Humans are so hard to understand.
“If you just ate what normal dogs do, I wouldn’t have to go the store every other day to get your food. Dogs don’t even eat meat. Wolves eat meat.”
I gasp, offended. My great-aunt on my mother’s side was a wolf.
“And what kind of dog drinks tea? I don’t even drink tea! Are you British or something?”
It is at times like these that I wish I could talk to him, but then I always end up realizing that it would be useless.
He sinks onto the couch, with his head in his hands. No matter what he does, he knows he’s stuck with me. He is well off, though, if his biggest problem is that his dog only eats lemon chicken and drinks sweet tea.
I nudge his leg with my head. I’m still faithful, at least in practice.
He glumly walks over to his bags, dumps some chicken in my bowl, and grabs a box from it, heading for the kitchen.
I can smell the lovely scent of the lemony meat before I sink my teeth into it. I spill meat on the floor as I eat. Whoops.
I lick it up before he comes back with my tea. Can’t have him making me eat outside.
My slave walks into the room and places my drink next to the chicken. I lap at the tea contentedly. Mmmm. Just enough sugar.
Oh, yes. This is the life.Read to explore worlds, write to create them.
@hannah-krynicki Here is the one I wrote from your dare about from the perspective of a computer when an author kills off a character. 😀
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Her fingers pound down on me as ideas pound into her brain.
I don’t mind, though.
It’s what I was made for.
I look at her as the words appear on me.
Such painful words.
Death.
A tear escapes from her eye, barely missing me, as she types.
A scream.
I stop watching the girl in front of me.
Oh no.
The characters.
They feel it.
I feel it.
I see the sword as it stabs her; I bleed red ink as she screams.
I watch her friend run to catch her; I feel his heart rip in two.
A person is dying inside of me.
I don’t know what to do.
I don’t know what I can do.
I can’t hug them, I can’t pat their hair, I can’t tell them that it’s going to be all right.
Because it’s not.
Fictional characters exist.
They exist in me.
I carry them, I attach myself to them.
And then they die.
It is an anguishing job, being a computer.
An idea.
Computers don’t often get those.
I shut down suddenly.
My eyes close, but I can hear the frantic whispering of the girl in front of me as she tries to get me to open again.
I fancy my smile is evil as I start updating.
Huffing, she stomps downstairs, likely for a snack.
When she returns, I blink my eyes open at her.
She types in her password.
Her face goes pale. I grin at her.
She didn’t save the document.
The hole in my heart is resealed.
A figure in me smiles up.
Thank you.The others are coming later 🙂
Read to explore worlds, write to create them.
@sleepwalkingmk I love it! It was surprisingly sad, but then you made it all right in the end. 🙂
Write about why a giraffe is tied to your kitchen table right now.
“MOM!”
I jumped out of the chair and rushed into the kitchen. She’d chopped her hand off…hadn’t she.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Well, there was no blood, so that was good. But something else was bad. “Why is there a giraffe tied to our kitchen table?”
I held my hand to my heart and paused before I answered. But it was an excellent question. “Um…I don’t know.” This seemed like the work of my son. “Could you go get your brother?”
Kassie shrugged and walked out of the kitchen. I glanced at the…giraffe. Why it was this way, I did not know. It’s stilt-like legs here zip-tied to the stands of the table and its poor head craned up to the ceiling and back to the floor. I began working on those knots, but then Kassie returned with my eldest: Carson.
“What is this?” I asked, pointing my thumb at the poor creature in my kitchen.
“A giraffe,” the fourteen-year old flipped back his way-too-long-but-I-don’t-care haircut. “Well, don’t untie it!” he shrieked.
“And why not, Mr. In Charge?”
“Because, it’s a special giraffe.”
“Looks like any normal giraffe too me, and if you don’t start working on a logical explanation then be as spotted as he is,” I threatened. He’d better get on with it.
“Special as in, he’s the tallest giraffe ever. And he’s mine. At twenty and a half feet tall, he’s six inches taller than George, the tallest recorded giraffe.” For some reason, he thought this significant. It wasn’t
“This is my house,” I reminded him. “Anything in my house is mine. So the giraffe is mine.”
“But I found it!”
“There are no giraffe’s in the US except in zoos.”
“I found it at the zoo.”
“What?! You stole it?” That went too far. He’d resorted to felony for this trick. Certainly was helpful that his father was a cop. “Go to your room.”
“But Moooomm….”
“GO!”
The teen stomped up the stairs. I belatedly sat at the computer and searched: HOW MUCH MONEY FOR FINDER OF WORLDS TALLEST GIRAFFE? Of course, I was just curious.☀ ☀ ☀ ENFP ☀ ☀ ☀
@Dragon-Snapper That’s hilarious! She’s ‘just curious’, of course. Good to know your writer’s block has passed, or whatever it was. *awkwardly pats your head while trying to avoid getting melted*
INTJ ➸Your friendly neighborhood mastermind. ➸https://thesarcasticelf.wordpress.com/
@ethryndal Ah? Style block? I don’t know what it is, but I’m glad it’s passing. I have a lot of writing dares to do…so you’ll be seeing more. 😛
*snaps at you but does not melt you*☀ ☀ ☀ ENFP ☀ ☀ ☀
@dragon-snapper
Haha, I love it! So hilarious. The last line is just perfect. “Just curious…” XD@Dragon-Snapper *jumps quickly out of the way and shields face with a pillow* Style block. That’s good. Congratulations, Professor Higgins, you’ve just invented a new writing term!
INTJ ➸Your friendly neighborhood mastermind. ➸https://thesarcasticelf.wordpress.com/
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