Join me every Friday for a Word Ninja piece!! Sometimes we just need to be ourselves... Ahem, let me correct that! ALL THE TIME WE NEED TO BE OURSELVES...within reason. If you're a baby eater you should probably keep that on the down low. The preservation of self extends into so many areas, but how do you preserve yourself in your writing? I was pondering this question earlier in the week. With commissioned writing projects, sometimes it can be hard to remember my own voice. To keep it real, I play a game I like to call Word Ninja. I pick the most immediate inanimate object in sight, inject it with a personality, and write a five hundred word story about it. Lets' see if you can pick up on the item of choice, enjoy!
I call this Peeled and I like to imagine Christopher Walken reading it:
I ruined the wedding, but it it is the journey that got me to this point that I feel compelled to share.
I was born into a large family, a swift growing bunch, enjoying the tropic breeze and the pleasant chirping of birds as Mama swayed to their song. I didn't know what great things were planned for my life, but I was snatched from home before I could ever know... I wasn't the only victim, kidnapped with my brothers during the vitality of our youth... when we were all but green.
Strange men with dull faces appraised us roughly, flinging our young forms into barbaric crates packed into the back of trucks that jostled us off to new destinations. I had been separated from my brothers, we had been attached in so many ways, and now I felt the hopelessness of loss and abandonment. If Mama only knew...
I awoke under dingy fluorescent lights, the falsely cheery jingles of the nineties echoing distantly through this new prison. Sick as it was, we were put on display, stacked one on top of the other, wrangled like pigs in a mass of our own kind. The torture of being separated from my family was nothing compared to the ghoulish treatment in the strange warehouse... The touching, jabbing, nudging, squeezing molestation by women with saggy faces and down-turned mouths, smelling of baby powder and convalescent homes haunt me to this day. Felt up for some vile means, picked off one by one by the common cereal killer. My resolve was waning, perhaps I was going soft, I could only withstand these conditions for so long.
The day finally came, molested by a multitude one hand sealed my fate, bagging me so that the dwindling air caused me faintness , carted off yet again thinking I had lost the strength to endure...
I ruined the wedding, but it it is the journey that got me to this point that I feel compelled to share.
I was born into a large family, a swift growing bunch, enjoying the tropic breeze and the pleasant chirping of birds as Mama swayed to their song. I didn't know what great things were planned for my life, but I was snatched from home before I could ever know... I wasn't the only victim, kidnapped with my brothers during the vitality of our youth... when we were all but green.
Strange men with dull faces appraised us roughly, flinging our young forms into barbaric crates packed into the back of trucks that jostled us off to new destinations. I had been separated from my brothers, we had been attached in so many ways, and now I felt the hopelessness of loss and abandonment. If Mama only knew...
I awoke under dingy fluorescent lights, the falsely cheery jingles of the nineties echoing distantly through this new prison. Sick as it was, we were put on display, stacked one on top of the other, wrangled like pigs in a mass of our own kind. The torture of being separated from my family was nothing compared to the ghoulish treatment in the strange warehouse... The touching, jabbing, nudging, squeezing molestation by women with saggy faces and down-turned mouths, smelling of baby powder and convalescent homes haunt me to this day. Felt up for some vile means, picked off one by one by the common cereal killer. My resolve was waning, perhaps I was going soft, I could only withstand these conditions for so long.
The day finally came, molested by a multitude one hand sealed my fate, bagging me so that the dwindling air caused me faintness , carted off yet again thinking I had lost the strength to endure...
How would you end it? The five hundred word restraint is tough stuff, but hones the ninja writing skills from within. Join me every Friday for Word Ninja and randomness in all its beauty!
RSS Feed
