Thursday, October 15

From the View of a Marble

It's amazing how much I can roll, over and over agin with the slightest touch. In my poor case, it was a hand that caused my demise. All marbles fear bing touched, because we can so easily be knocked to the floor and forgotten until thrown out and reduced to splinters of broken, crying glass. Not a very happy ending.
This time, my owner, a clumsy boy named Avery brushed me with his finger. It was just enough to send me to a slow and steady tilt, and then a roll across the desk. As a wide gap of darkness opened up before me, like Death himself waiting with open arms I fell. The grey carpet came closer and sped towards me, until my whole round body was covered in the fluff. It was over, my life as a marble.
The only way that I could tell if it was night or day was the narrow streaks of light moving slowly across Avery's bedroom. I was stuck there, a miserable heap of unwanted glass covered in dust bunnies. It's a hard life, being a marble.

1 comment:

  1. cool i would have never thought of writing about a marble is it hard to write about non-animate objects brook?


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