Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

A Day in the Life...

I am perched solidly on a granite desk; my leafy arms stretching to find the sun through the neaby window tremble a bit in the circulating currents from the air conditioner. Feeling bolstered by a recent drink, I am growing, although I feel so constrained by my girdle of pottery. My feet are unable to stretch and move, to dance or run. They are only allowed to coil around the interior, winding around and around, until someone thinks to place me in a bigger container. And that could take years! I almost have to wave my arms with what little strength is left before I collapse in a wilted heap, hoping that someone notices my plight.

That's the thing. I am at the complete mercy of my caregiver. I've heard tell of wonderful caregivers who water and feed and tend and speak to my sisters and brothers on a consistent basis, but mine is not like that. Only when my arms are exhausted from dehydration and hang limply by my side and droop around my girdle does my caregiver think to give me a drink. It's a constant cycle. I'm in the upward swing of one now, so I'm happy, strong and stretching for the light.

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