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Another journey in Wonderland |
| Write a conversation between the most unlikely of companions. Think completely opposite ends of the spectrum and what they could possibly talk about. (<1000 words) At midnight, the air in the toy box grows starlit and magical. Beorn, the bear, oversees the tangle left over from the day's play from his perch on the rocker. He's the biggest and oldest, with a worn nose and a bit of stuffing oozing from his left foot where the girl drags him around during the day. As the last stroke of midnight tolls from the grandfather clock, the rocking chair creaks and Beorn looks up with black button eyes. “It was a good day,” he says, and the words are more pronouncement than statement, with all the weight of ten thousand nap time cuddles. He knows what a good day is. “We had good play and met a new friend. Nothing could have been better.” Beorn shakes his heavy head and then names all the toys who had played so well during the day. Blocks and legos, crayons and coloring pages . . . even Ipad, who Mama always treated as a problematic visitor who must be put on the high shelf except for the fifteen minutes the girl was allowed to explore educational softwhere. Every toy has their moment of recognition. And then Beorn repeats, “It was a good day.” The rest of the toys murmur agreement. The girl and baby boy are good children, and while they are sometimes careless, the toys are well looked after. “A good day? More like a disaster waiting to happen,” tinkles Whirligig, the wind chime in glitter and unicorns and music that was added to the nursery this afternoon. Her voice is music and as sharp and cutting as Beorn's is soft and deeply sleepy. “Did you see them? They nearly hit me when they threw you across the room. I nearly broke!” Whirligig is a new kind of toy—someone meant to be seen and not touched. Beorn isn't sure how to treat her.The chair creaks faster. “She can't throw me high enough for you to be at risk. Don't be silly.” The other toys chuckle their agreement. “You're soft. Next time it'll be a block. Then where will I be?” Whirligig shivers in a jangle of sound. Across the room, baby boy turns over in his crib. “Hush,” whispers everyone. “Don't wake the children,” Beorn says. “They need their sleep.” In a noticeably quieter voice, she continues, “I'll tell you where. Shattered. In a heap of shards on the ground, caught in their feet. Maybe I'd even get caught in your fur, and then where would you be.” “You worry too much.” “You don't worry enough.” She sighs. “I don't think I can handle this. My hooks aren't strong enough to keep me hanging here in constant anxiety. In distress.” She swings in a whisper of sound that makes the girl sit up for a moment before turning her pillow and laying down again. “Don't!” comes shouting from the toy box, but there's nothing to be done. In a suicidal rush, Whirligig falls, and in that moment the witching hour is done and the clock strikes one. In the morning, when the girl and baby boy wake, they see Beorn, lying on the ground near the rocking chair, with Whirligig draped over his soft tummy in crystal silence. “Pretty,” says baby boy, and he tangles her in his playing with slinky and the giant caterpillar before Mama comes and puts her up on the ceiling hook again, still whole. Word count: 579 Attempt #1 ▼ |
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