An Object's Journey
This is a recent completed task for my University course. I am currently studying Professional Writing and hope that this is what my future career will bring. This task is the journey of something becoming another. If you wish to hazard a guess, I will leave the answer clearly at the bottom of this post. Good luck and enjoy!
- BEGIN -
Dreams were something that I only believed in, a destiny deciphered only by the hand of God, to those of religion and commitment, not something that could happen to me. Something so ordinary, something so natural and necessary. Yet this morning, I was taken away.
It was a shelter that I previously found myself living upon. A shelter for objects of different colour, different size and different background. The shelter became a refuge for the new, the old and on rare occasions, the ancient. It was the Ancients that I fled, in every possible circumstance they would place me at the base of this Ancient, and leave me there for minutes at a time. They intimidated me, each day staring towards me with ferocious, challenging eyes. I cast a silent prayer to the atheist God existing within my mind. Silent eyes and silent faces. It isn't sound that matters when you know what is inside.
This morning so many fell to their death. I watched them being carried away, one by one, piece by piece after hitting the surface of the Earth with such a force that I could barely see the natural colours of the floor; just multi-colours of guts and innards lying helplessly upon the floor. It is not a fate that I would wish upon anybody. We were not made for that, we were made to die but to pleasure, not to die without such opportunity.
After their death I began my own journey - the experience of just three seconds of freedom was a happiness that one could only dream for. I was set free from my prison, holding nothing but my heart in my hands, with no liquid coating me, no dense material surrounding me. Just white me. Just free me. Just simple me.
I flew across the room, the wind strongly hitting the skin of my soul, what was not securely attached was no longer there when I again felt solid ground. I was the first to be removed.
The heat was a heartbeat away. A love affair if you will, between myself and the beauty of an orange light, casting a golden tan upon the body that would soon be clothed. I admired myself. My brown self. My golden self. I smiled with a smile that can only be known, yet never seen. No expression will ever be shown upon the body that be mine.
Golden red waves of fire began running up my spine. I'm black. I would now look upon a world of such bright light and little opportunity now with a grin and a smile, and a coating of substance to sooth the burning spreading across my body. I felt no pain. Pure satisfaction.
In such a dramatic burst of triumph, I rested - still as a stare, curious as a child upon that marble board with a smile. I succeeded where many fell.
I entered the dark.
-FINISHES-
Did you guess what object was explaining his experience? I am very interested in what you feel I am talking about in this article so feel free to drop me an e-mail BoneataBell@live.co.uk or leave a comment in the space below.
This article is describing the life journey of a piece of bread in the fridge, being taken out and placed in the toaster. He is then eaten. What did you think? Inspire me.
Boneata Bell
- BEGIN -
Dreams were something that I only believed in, a destiny deciphered only by the hand of God, to those of religion and commitment, not something that could happen to me. Something so ordinary, something so natural and necessary. Yet this morning, I was taken away.
It was a shelter that I previously found myself living upon. A shelter for objects of different colour, different size and different background. The shelter became a refuge for the new, the old and on rare occasions, the ancient. It was the Ancients that I fled, in every possible circumstance they would place me at the base of this Ancient, and leave me there for minutes at a time. They intimidated me, each day staring towards me with ferocious, challenging eyes. I cast a silent prayer to the atheist God existing within my mind. Silent eyes and silent faces. It isn't sound that matters when you know what is inside.
This morning so many fell to their death. I watched them being carried away, one by one, piece by piece after hitting the surface of the Earth with such a force that I could barely see the natural colours of the floor; just multi-colours of guts and innards lying helplessly upon the floor. It is not a fate that I would wish upon anybody. We were not made for that, we were made to die but to pleasure, not to die without such opportunity.
After their death I began my own journey - the experience of just three seconds of freedom was a happiness that one could only dream for. I was set free from my prison, holding nothing but my heart in my hands, with no liquid coating me, no dense material surrounding me. Just white me. Just free me. Just simple me.
I flew across the room, the wind strongly hitting the skin of my soul, what was not securely attached was no longer there when I again felt solid ground. I was the first to be removed.
The heat was a heartbeat away. A love affair if you will, between myself and the beauty of an orange light, casting a golden tan upon the body that would soon be clothed. I admired myself. My brown self. My golden self. I smiled with a smile that can only be known, yet never seen. No expression will ever be shown upon the body that be mine.
Golden red waves of fire began running up my spine. I'm black. I would now look upon a world of such bright light and little opportunity now with a grin and a smile, and a coating of substance to sooth the burning spreading across my body. I felt no pain. Pure satisfaction.
In such a dramatic burst of triumph, I rested - still as a stare, curious as a child upon that marble board with a smile. I succeeded where many fell.
I entered the dark.
-FINISHES-
Did you guess what object was explaining his experience? I am very interested in what you feel I am talking about in this article so feel free to drop me an e-mail BoneataBell@live.co.uk or leave a comment in the space below.
This article is describing the life journey of a piece of bread in the fridge, being taken out and placed in the toaster. He is then eaten. What did you think? Inspire me.
Boneata Bell
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