• 12/19/13 7:51 pm
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- Steve
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Breathing ever so steadily, I wait beneath the pile of excitement. The day spoiled children strain months for, creating a list of empty hopes and wishes that a large-fat man with a magical white beard will fill your dull, wasteful tree. The lights that blanket each needle of the dirty green tree blink every few seconds, as I hear the buzzing of the children upstairs. With an enormous scream, every child is awoken, as the youngest's high pitched squeal echos throughout the hallway. He screams "Christmas", and the steps of children pound against the stairs.
I claw against the box, waiting to be chosen. It's a honor for presents to have their box to be chosen. For the children to grab them with their blood thirsty hands, and to claw through the brown cardboard, to decide to play with you for a few months. The dreaded day when you become old and thrown away, losing your potential forever. That is the day we are anxious of, the day we become useless.
The action figure of the year they called me, my brothers and sisters were sold out, and I was sent home to a warm household. There are many other presents, as the brothers and sisters fight over the other presents. It's been minutes, and nobody has touched me. I sit there, worried, beginning to feel scared that I won't be chosen. I hear cries, and screams. The children fighting over toys that aren't me.
Finally, I hear a poke. Then with a sudden rush of blood going to me feet, I leap to the feeling of fingers rushing through the box, ripping me open. Large, blue, and bold eyes stare deeply into my eyes. The freckles on the girl's face pop out like stars, as her blonde hair drops to the floor. She sighs deeply, enough to make me stop breathing for a moment. Dropping me down into my box, I hit the floor with a thump. I could see lights, and the ornaments above. She tore off my top wrapper, before dropping me with such force. Slowly, the two lids of the box close to each other, and it becomes pitch black. A rush of anger, pain, and adrenaline flows into my body. I reach for the top of the box with all my might, but nothing happens.
Steadily, I drop back to the corner, leaving my emotions behind I thought. With a slow drip, tears press against my cheeks. I lie in the corner of the box, preparing for the end. Maybe again, I could be made in Santa's Workshop. Perhaps this time, I would be a Barbie. trolololol
I claw against the box, waiting to be chosen. It's a honor for presents to have their box to be chosen. For the children to grab them with their blood thirsty hands, and to claw through the brown cardboard, to decide to play with you for a few months. The dreaded day when you become old and thrown away, losing your potential forever. That is the day we are anxious of, the day we become useless.
The action figure of the year they called me, my brothers and sisters were sold out, and I was sent home to a warm household. There are many other presents, as the brothers and sisters fight over the other presents. It's been minutes, and nobody has touched me. I sit there, worried, beginning to feel scared that I won't be chosen. I hear cries, and screams. The children fighting over toys that aren't me.
Finally, I hear a poke. Then with a sudden rush of blood going to me feet, I leap to the feeling of fingers rushing through the box, ripping me open. Large, blue, and bold eyes stare deeply into my eyes. The freckles on the girl's face pop out like stars, as her blonde hair drops to the floor. She sighs deeply, enough to make me stop breathing for a moment. Dropping me down into my box, I hit the floor with a thump. I could see lights, and the ornaments above. She tore off my top wrapper, before dropping me with such force. Slowly, the two lids of the box close to each other, and it becomes pitch black. A rush of anger, pain, and adrenaline flows into my body. I reach for the top of the box with all my might, but nothing happens.
Steadily, I drop back to the corner, leaving my emotions behind I thought. With a slow drip, tears press against my cheeks. I lie in the corner of the box, preparing for the end. Maybe again, I could be made in Santa's Workshop. Perhaps this time, I would be a Barbie. trolololol
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