The following is a first draft of a short story written as part of the Story A Day May 2016 Challenge.
This is Story #4 for day 4 (even though I am late again!).
In the comments below, please share your critique of the story. Also, let me know if this is a character/story you’d be interested in reading more about.
THE LIFE OF A SPOON
I had one job. I was created to feed, or at least aid in the process. I’m like a tiny shovel for food so humans don’t get all sloppy when eating stuff like soup or ice cream. That’s what they told me at the factory, and for years that’s what I had been doing.
I’m a long, slender spoon. The family had gotten into a routine of using me just for ice cream sundaes. It was a lot of fun. I loved the cold, creamy stuff I’d be stirred into, and when the woman added the warm chocolate to the mix, it was euphoric. Nuts and sprinkles were a little rough, but seen so infrequently I can hardly complain about it.
The drawer they kept me in was extra nice. I was kept In compartment with a bunch of nice guys and gals the same shape as me. We fit together so nicely and slept soundly. There was no restless jumbling when the drawer was pulled open for other utensils. It was a peaceful life. It was a happy life.
Then the kid showed up and everything changed. They started using me inside his long, tall bottles to stir this abhorrent powder into warm water that I think he was supposed to drink (they called it “formula”). At the time I felt bad for him. At the time I didn’t know how closely our fates would be intertwined.
When the formula stopped, and the kid started getting “food,” somehow I was expected to deal with that too. You’ll have noticed the quotes I placed around the word food, I’m sure. Well, that’s because this categorization is questionable at best. It didn’t look anything like what the others ate, or what they claimed it to be (since when is chicken an orange paste?). It was soft and creamy like the ice cream, but hot and strangely colored. The smells were pretty bad too. The worst part was that the kid didn’t even like it.
But it got worse.
Not too long after that I was given to him! This kid has no idea what he is doing! He has smacked me upside his head, attempted shoving my handle up his nose, bit down on me like I’m some kind of fork, and – perhaps worst of all – has taken me away from the food. I don’t think the woman or man have any idea about this, but I have not been returned to the drawer in weeks! To be perfectly honest with you I have no idea where I am right now. There was absolutely nothing in my training to prepare me for this. It is the brightest place I have ever been at times, and then, in a seemingly regular rhythm, it becomes as dark as the drawer, though I feel no protection from the elements or comforting clang of my brother and sister spoons. The dog has come to visit me a couple of times – the damn dog! – and done things to me I wish not to speak of. The kid has also visited me with his toys and with hands that are in no way fit for eating. I am not used to mingling with such filth or varying atmospheres. Yesterday water poured down on me in darkness for hours upon hours. It was so disconcerting – I get washed in the sink, with a sponge, or, as I prefer it, it the caress of knowledgeable, soapy hands. I should be washed here, wherever here is.
I fear that this is it for me. Forgotten by the people, under the care of some untrained, cruel child with no clue about the ways of the world. This is not the life of a spoon! If you know where I am send help, please.
I have been using the prompts from the Story A Day site for every story this week, but the prompt was extremely open-ended today. It said:
Write a story in the first person
For many, this may have been an enormous challenge on its own, but, for me, first person is what I do. I found myself drowning in the endless possibilities of what this meant. I felt desperate for something more specific.
I crumbled and added a prompt of my own, from the Silly Starters Write-Abouts for Grades 1-3. And, yes, the prompt was very silly: