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Creative lit project

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alright, so for a project in my creative writing class, we have to write about the life/a day in the life, of any inanimate object. I chose a glowstick. not yet finished, but lemmie know what you think.




The Life of a Glowstick

It's dark. Everything is dark. I am blind and seemingly forgotten within this foil prison. I know I am someplace cool, kept below room temperature so that I do not die a premature death, but it is lonesome. My packaging keeps me safe, but leaves me no escape to the world outside. I am probably in a drawer, or a camper, or first aid kit; it hardly matters since I am forgotten until I am needed. Only then am I given my chance to shine.

Unknown hands move me suddenly, pressing me into a pants pocket, and it is only then do I realize through my fear of what's to come, that my brother is right beside me (one of my many brothers at least). I try calling out to him, but he doesn’t hear me through my foil barricade. He is in one as well I presume and my sadness is only consumed even more by the fear of the unknown.

It is some time that we reside there, pressed against each other in shivering terror. Awhile before I could hear something, a sound that repeated over and over, hitting and vibrating my insides. It made my fear subside, slightly, replaced by a certain kind of anxiousness. There was a lot of movement, but I was being handled with a surprising amount of care. My brother was gone suddenly and once again I felt all alone. But it wasn’t long before my mysterious captor was paying attention to me… lots of attention.

I had to look away from the brilliance that suddenly flooded into my dark, protective cell. It was frightening as red, and green, and yellow colors flashed overhead, blinding my nocturnal eyes. I felt myself moving then, and a feeling of sliding no matter how hard I tried, grasping onto the thing I used to loath the most, wanting nothing more than to simply stay where I was. But it was too late, and before I knew it the noise I heard before was near deafening and the flashing colors all the brighter. It hurt, but nothing compared to the next sensation I felt: with only seconds to spare, I saw my captor, a girl, biting near my top. With a simple twist, pain shot through me as a piece of me was simply taken away. What was even more, she burned me directly after to seal the wound.

I didn’t understand this swirling of noise and painful colors. I was so disoriented, I wasn’t aware of being put on a string, hanging freely. I was being jostled around, not understanding. The only thing that snapped me out of it was the sudden feeling of my brother next to me, the sweaty hand of the human girl holding us tightly. My brother was shaking, but not in fear as I was. He was excited and whispered to me, “It’s a miracle.â€

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Before I could ask what he meant however, the girl took me in one of her hands, my brother in her other. In one fluid motion, she pressed me against her hips. My body bent; it hurt as something inside me pushed back, resisting her. My fear boiled inside me yet again before I felt my insides shatter. And then…

Brilliant light spilled all around me, spilling from me, lighting the girls face as she moved me, her hands indistinguishable in this inner glow of mine. I giggled in delight, like the child I was, orange splashing onto the floor and onlookers as the girl moved me in a dance with my brother. After so long, it truly was a miracle that my brother and I could share this, not be alone under water or hanging as a campsite nightlight. This was the ultra experience. The girl was practiced as well, tracing my brother and I in a chase around each other, circles and figure eights, before being tossed overhead, spun around, stalled, bumped, kicked, and threaded. It was invigorating and got whatever adrenaline I had pumping through me.

However, before too long the song had ended, and my brother was looking pale. I assumed I was much the same. It was a somber moment when we realized this, but still we were content (if not happy) with our lives at that moment. We stayed in silence as we were tucked away, safely in the girls pocket or backpack (I wasn’t sure which). My brother and I huddled there, cold and dark now, not speaking and simply remembering the five minutes we were given to shine.

That wasn’t the end however. Being used is the life of a glowstick and being kept, as keepsake, is a future that is rarely given to us. This was the case for my brother and I. He was removed from the girl’s person, a somber goodbye passing between us before he was lost forever. It was some time later that the noise died down and the air got chilly when I was removed. It was an accident, I think, that I was left alone while my brother was taken. For a simple shrug was all I received before I was tossed to the hard, cold pavement. A jingle was heard, a slam, before a roaring sound erupted and her car drove away.

I cried. Forgotten. Alone. Used. The life of a glowstick is one with few moments worth treasuring. Those moments, however last long enough, so that even after we have faded away, we still remember the time that was our time to glow and shine our brightest.


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