I was made from a lump of iron. The heat of fire and the hammering of tools slowly forged me into the shape I am today. My shape is in the eye of the beholder. Some think I am a bird; to others, I am a dragon. No one knows for sure what my purpose is. But to the Collector, I am a prized possession. One of a kind.
There is a small cottage hidden deep in a forest, away from the troubles and worries of the world. In the cottage, I hold a spot on a wooden shelf, rough and course. The Collector carved it himself. From my shelf I can see everything. I take in each golden ray of sun, reflected through the glass window, as it rises each morning. Other trinkets litter the floor, each precariously arranged on various tables and shelves. Then there is the Collector himself. He is a wise old man who takes company only with his trinkets, keeping them clean and shining. His deep voice mumbles away. He hums melodies of tunes long forgotten by the world. He whispers promises, which he never fails to keep.
The Collector keeps all sorts of objects. Teapots from the Queen of England rest delicately on trays. Jars from the ancient Aztec Empires sit proudly on their shelves. Medals from the great generals of past wars hang in honor on the wall. There are worn books, parchments of writings, and herbs hanging from the ceiling. It is cozy in the cottage. It is safe with the Collector.
From my little shelf I watch the world spin. I watch as the Collector goes out each day and return with a new treasure. Each thing is more grand and more important than I, but for some reason, he loves me the best. He forged me, made me, created me. I may not seem grand or special to the eyes of the world. But I am His. And that is enough.
Each year, my school holds a Writer's Conference. Throughout the day, the students attending listen to speakers and work on small creative practices on the new content the conference focuses on. Because memoirs was the topic of 2020, each table worked on an activity to pick an object (which was provided) and write a first-person piece of chosen object.
My table was given a diversity of things, varying from chicken gizzards to a stuffed animal to a rock. One object caught our attention. It was a small iron trinket, with a shape like a bird on the top which bobbed into a small dish. We had no idea what this little object was, but it was so intriguing, we chose this as our subject for our writing.
I think it would be funny to add, at the end of our activity, we read the pieces aloud and showed the objects we wrote about. Our table debated whether our object was a garden ornament or a paperweight or just a little decoration. However, it turns out, the little iron box was in fact a toothpick-picker-upper. I have no idea how it works or why you need something like that, but that is what our little trinket was.
Share what you thought of our Creative Writing in the comments! Any ideas or constructive criticism is always enjoyed!!
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