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Writing > Users > rockmyorchid > 2017

Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction


The following is a piece of writing submitted by rockmyorchid on December 20, 2017
"Just a random thought that free-flowed itself out of me."

Misfit Toys

I remember when I arrived here. I was discarded like a piece of trash and I felt disposable and used. I wasn't always a Misfit. I had a purpose once. I could be etched and sketched with the best of them when I was in my packaging and I waited in the darkness of the wrapping paper under that tree with such hope and joy. Who would be my person? Who would be the one to love and cherish me? I was filled with the thrill of the unknown.

It never crossed my mind that the one I was meant for would be anything less than ideal. I never dreamed that they would treat me with such disdain and utter carelessness. When I felt the ground fall away and two hands eagerly grasp me and I heard the paper rip I was flooded with red and green twinkling and eager impatience. When I beheld his face for the first time in all his excitement and fervent adoration I felt complete. I was finally somebody's...until I wasn't.

The first few weeks I was never put down. The art that flooded my surface was reminiscent of Van Gogh and even Rembrandt. The curious exploration of my knobs twisting and turning wrote such messages that rivaled the words of even the greatest poem of Bukowski or the words of Marcus Aurelius. I was flooded by obsession and blinded by my ideals. Until I wasn't anymore.

I think the turning point was the day he left me behind. I felt the breaking of my soul when the first raindrop fell and by time the puddle enveloped me I had died inside of my casing. That movement shook me more than his motions ever could in that final time. When his mother finally retrieved me I was damaged and unusable and he threw me out on top of the trash on the side of the curb. My face has been blurred black and dripping ever since they found me and brought me to this place.

And so I have been here for many years. I have been empty and without hope. I saw Santa and felt incredulous as I have already been down that road. Until this moment. She is looking at me with such joy, such inspiration. I hear hear exclamations of how she remembers my kind and I see her face flooded with nostalgia. She looks at me now, in the afterglow of the holiday with determination. She is an artist I have learned and I wonder at my fate.

She whispers, "I have the perfect photo for you." I am content.

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