Short Stories-Creative Writing Class

Personification

      Hey Everyone! This is a personification which means its in the point of view of an object, for example this is the story of a paint brush and his life! Hope ya like it!

      I felt the colorful paint hit the top of my head as my owner dipped me into the little glass jar. He then splashed and splattered me onto the white, blank canvas showing off the colors I gave. I let my mind go blank as my owner painted with me. I could still remember my early life and how daunting and horrible it was. I remembered the people, the places, and the recklessness they treated me with. It seemed like it was only yesterday that I was still at the factory.

                The factory was huge. There were big steel machines surrounding me and smoke filled the air. I remember the time I was first getting assembled and how weird it was. The different stops I would go into and get my brushes glued in, the company name printed on me, and the metal they would wrap around my brushes. It felt like forever till I was finally packaged and shipped off to an art store.

                The store wasn’t exactly an art store; it was more like a second hand store or a dollar store. The smell was filled with dust and I could barely see out of my packaged because of the thin layer of dirt. I slowly lost hope of ever getting picked and having the dream of getting painted with; but my whole life style changed drastically when a little girl picked me out.

                The girl was a monster. She would cover me in paint and press me hard against the surface of the paper. I remember how she would pull out my brushes and pick at the name carved into the wood on my back. She would leave me in the sink and let me rot with the old paint slowly drying into my brushes. I soon got warn out and got thrown away. The girl got bored of me and threw me in the trash like I was a piece of garbage. I went from being brand new to a broken, old, nasty paint brush that no one cared for.

                On my way to the dump, however, I was able to poke a hole in the side of the black garbage bag. I immediately fell out with other remains and rolled down the hill to a little town. I felt like this could be the only way to possibly get help for my broken brushes and wood. I swiftly rolled into the hectic and crowded town and immediately regretted it.

                I was stepped on and cracked. Feet and heels walked all around me and I tried rolling in their opposite directions but messed up and got a foot stepped on my back. I felt and heard the low crack of the oak wood and tried moving around to see where my other half could have went. I looked up to meet the eyes of a small boy holding my wooden back. He looked at it in all direction and then picked me up and reconnected me to my other piece. A smile appeared on his face when he knew he found the other half of me. He ran into a nearby store and grabbed tape from the small, cramped counter and wrapped me up in it. I was put back together and felt whole again. The boy then tried smoothing out my brushes but there was no use. I was broken for good.

                Another small smirk appeared on his little chubby face and I felt myself get picked up and rushed outside. He looked in all directions through the crowds of people and started yelling.

                “Did anyone lose their paint brush?!” The little boy yelled. People gave him weird looks and proceeded on.  He tried yelling again but shortly gave up. He started walking back into the store when someone yelled to him.

                “You found my brush!” I had never heard this voice before and new it was none of my previous owners. The boy gave me to the middle aged man and left me with the stranger. The man put me in his coats pocket and I felt myself bounce up and down due to his walking.

                I felt a change in environment and looked out the top of his jackets pocket. It was the lobby of a building. Big chandeliers hung from the ceiling, big antique looking couches were set up in the large room. A lady behind a desk greeted my new owner while he proceeded up the stairs and to a door. The door was big, but the room inside was even larger. It had a wall full of windows while the others were filled with fine painting of just about everything; people, cities, plants, and even odd shapes. The room had an old rustic look to it, but that just brought out all the art that hung everywhere. I looked to the middle of the room and found a huge canvas the size of a person. It was a blank but had jars of paint sitting beside it ready for the painter to start.

                I felt excitement fill me as my new owner pulled me out of his pocket. He opened the jar full of paint and dipped me inside. I once again felt the rush of pain go to my head and then the gentle push against the canvas. He then began painting with me with gentle hands, unlike the little girl. He washed me after he was done with another masterpiece and set me in a jar with other paint brushes.

                I felt content knowing that this was my new home, my future. I knew that this owner would fix me and take care of me. Ever since the factory I’ve had a dream that resembled this, and now I was living it.