My Stories
Ages: 13-14
What Am I?
Gemma .

I did an exercise for my writing class. My teacher said we had to pick a non-living, inanimate object and the class had to guess what it was. I really liked how it turned out, so I thought I'd share it with you!! I hope you enjoy it.

I used to have a best friend. My best friend was a human. He was he most beautiful human in the world. He had crazy brown ringlets that would curl around his rosy cheeks. He was kind of chubby, chubbier than most kids, but I didn't care, he was perfect to me. His name was Joey.

Joey was the kind of kid that would stick his fingers in bright neon paint and run it along the soft purple walls but whenever his mom or dad felt sad he would wrap his chubby arms around one of their necks and give them a sloppy kiss on the cheek to make them smile again. And indeed, he did make them smile, along with me. Though my surface was a cold metal, I felt all warm when he was around.

Joey and I would play for hours, and I would feel adrenaline as he ran with me up the stairs, then he would set one of my ends at the top and another on the stair below, making me topple rapidly down each stair, my rings clinking together, and it would make him laugh, therefore I kept going no matter how exhausted I became.

When Joey was feeling blue, he wouldn't play with me at, but he would hold me in his hands and kind of fiddle with me, running his fingers across my slick, silver surface and change my shapes into a circle or a rainbow or a small tube or a stretched out, spacey tube. I was glad to be there for him, even though it was hard to see him sad.

Gymnastics had always been my favorite sport, I would bend in different shapes and sizes, and though I would get dirty or tangled, I loved every single moment of it.

As Joey got older, time got slower. It seemed he didn't want to play with me anymore, he got sadder and angrier and I watched him go through phases and stages of life. I would just sit there, unable to move or play or do anything I loved. One day, Joey came into his room, and he looked straight at me. Straight at me! I felt so special. But he never took me to play.

Another day, he actually picked me up. At first I was radiating with complete and utter joy, he was going to play with me! But instead he took me to a big plastic bin, held me over for a second, and all I felt was fear and betrayal. After all the fun times and memories we had made together he was just going to throw me away?

But his big brown eyes stared down at me, his eyebrows furrowed and his scraggly curls in a bunch, and he took me back up to his room and sat me back down on his desk. I felt myself being set down with a jolt, and my rusted metal that had once been new and silver bunched together so I was weighed down again.

I longed to be free, to stretch myself to new heights, to dance and do gymnastics, but I was incapable.

I still remember the scariest day of my life. I remember his eyes, his angry brown eyes that stared down into my like lasers, like he could stretch my flimsy metal rings so straight I wouldn't be able to go back to the way I was. He held me with both of his hands to hold me together, his fingers clutching my metal frame so hard I thought it would bend. He flung me to the floor and screamed, "Why do you haunt me? Why do you taunt me from my beautiful past and make my present seem even worse?!" Finally, he sat on the floor, his body crumpled against his bed and said, "Why can't I be young and free again?"

As Joey grew, I never left his bedside, he never played with me but sometimes he would look at me longingly. It's about 25 years later now, and Joey is married and has two children, Hannah (6) and James (1).

As I remember my scariest day, I remember my most beautiful day of my life. When Joey held me in his rough hands, and with my rusted, dirty metal, and cleansed me, loop by loop. He smiled, arranging me in his hands, my metal loops clinking together with a noise I never thought I'd hear again.

I had a best friend. His name was Joey Taylor. Now I have a new best friend, her name is Hannah Taylor and she is 6 years old, she's the daughter of my old best friend. And now we play together all the time, she loves to stretch out and constrict my metal, and she loves to smile with the same dimples that appear every time Joey would smile. And though I feel cold and heavy on the surface, I feel warm inside. What am I?
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