Day 17: 13 Days of Writing Prompts

Two things, before I launch into something that will probably knock your socks off.

1. I changed my blog layout! I'm really proud of it. That sassy lady you see in the header is a character from my favorite graphic novel (I'm pushing up my imaginary glasses as I say this in a really nerdy voice, FYI) Ghost World by Daniel Clowes. The character's name is Enid Coleslaw, and, if you can't guess by the name, she's pretty much the epitome of cool. I want to be her when I grow up (so...a fictional teenaged girl who has an awesome record collection?)

2. I really want to keep up with this blog, but I don't always have something interesting to say. I feel like talking about my daily adventures would put people to sleep, so I'm reduced to talking about dysentery and my fascination with everything about the 90's. Also, if I try to force the intellectualism, it turns into pretentious junk, like this. Barf-o-rama.

So, in light of not droning on and on about the sassafrass middle school children I work with or my lame homework, I've taken on the challenge of responding to one of these Mcsweeney's writing prompts for the next 13 days. They're better than your average writing prompts in that they are nonsensical and silly. Here goes day 1!

Prompt:
Write a scene showing a man and a woman arguing over the man’s friendship with a former girlfriend. Do not mention the girlfriend, the man, the woman, or the argument.

I am made from the soft earth of South America, mixed with hand fulls of the Amazon river. 1,000 years ago, I was leaves on a Brazil Nut tree. I was bits of sweet fruit and carcasses of beetles and snakes. I was once a living organism with cells and a nucleus - producing, reproducing.

I was molded by brown hands caressing me as I spun around and around in an endless cycle of evolution. All of the living parts inside me melding together, dampened and smoothed by more drops of the Amazon - all of the living parts taking shape into a new, rounded, hollow object.

I was thrown into flames. I hardened as the living parts of me died. I glistened blue and black in the sun. I was filled and refilled with water. Some days, it felt like I was full of pride instead of gallon after gallon. I enjoyed these days.

Then, there came a day when I was no longer an object of purpose. I retired from my job of carrying precious goods inside of my hollowed center. I was placed on a shelf where I did not shine as brightly as I once had.

And there I stayed, occasionally holding flowers less beautiful than the ones I remembered from the rainforest. Red, small flowers whose perfume paled in comparison to the wild orchids that helped create my clay body.

I realized I had become an object of beauty. Pretty, but essentially useless. I wondered if I would ever be filled with pride, water, anything ever again.

And then, today, my purpose changed once more.

In an instant and without pain, I was hurled against the stained wall adjacent to my shelf home. Bits of myself scattered over the maroon carpet. I have traveled many miles for this moment.

This is my life cycle: purpose, beauty, violence, burial. I am back in my dirt home. Perhaps I will one day be found: crushed and mixed with water, remade into clay, remolded into a pot, repurposed once more. Or maybe I am an object of time now. A relic to be dug up and put on display for future eyes. I do not know. But, I will wait. And I will see.

That was a tough prompt. In case my response was too convoluted (probably), I took the POV of a vase or pot that one of the angry lovers I'm not supposed to mention threw against the wall in the argument I'm not supposed to mention. I'm pumped for tomorrow's prompt... but you'll just have to wait. And see!