Thursday, January 26, 2012

This Little Piggy

I remember a time when I was just a pig – well, a pile of cleverly disguised stuffing, really.  I lived on a shelf in a busy, busy place where a million eyes passed over me, and nobody stopped to see me.  I sat, and waited there for a long time… It was OK, though, I had plenty of time.

Those days are so far behind me now that they are like an echo from another world.  I am no longer a pig, you see.  True, I am still a pile of cleverly disguised stuffing, but I am not a pig.  A million pieces of my new world fill my fibers, and have made me into something entirely different.

Once I was made of cloth and stuffing, and thread… now I am made of tears (many, many tears), of sweat, of dirt, of imperfections and uneven stitches made by the hand of a little girl ‘fixing’ me after an accident, or when my pieces started to wear out.  I remember every tear, and I remember every stitch.

I came from a shelf and a box, but I grew into something so much bigger.  I was a comforter and counselor to a little girl who lost her brother.  I held her the best I could when she couldn’t stop crying because she missed him so badly.  I comforted her when she had a bad dream, or was nervous alone at camp.  Oh yes, I remember camp… it smelled funny, and the bed was uncomfortable.  I had to stay there in the cabin all day.

I moved a few times, too.  Once I went with the girl, far away, to a place where it snowed all the time.  It was different and scary, but we did it together.  

I remember a time when my girl just couldn’t stop crying.  We’d been together for a long time by then, and I knew something very bad had happened.  It was then that I thought I might fall apart, because I wasn’t used to having so many tears fall on me.  She lost her first love and I worried for her, but I let her know she would always have me.

I’m still with my girl after many years.  Losses and tears still come.  Perhaps someday I will fall apart… but my girl will stitch me back together again just as I've done for her.

(This post is the result of a writing prompt.  The dictionary defines personification as “the attribution of a personal nature or human characteristics to something nonhuman, or the representation of an abstract quality in human form.”
Now it’s your turn to tell a piece of your story from the point of view of an object who bore witness in 400 words or less.)

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