Prompt: An item in your room is committing suicide.
Clank.
I heard its footsteps before anything else.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
As a horrifying possibility hit me, I dropped the computer I was holding and raced towards the noise. "Stop!" I cried desperately. As my guess turned to reality, a stomach-twisting, guilt-churning wave of despair overcame me. "Don't do this to yourself, you have so much to live for!"
The mug I was talking to stood still. It was a white mug with golden stars and the word "Dream" written across it; I bought it a few months ago when I settled in my dorm.
"Please," I whispered. To my dismay, the mug laughed, its hollow body shaking.
"Please? No, don't you get it? A simple 'please' wouldn't change anything now! I don't have anything to live for!" The mug's back was facing me.
I stuttered, "Why? Aren't you leading the mug life?"
The mug shook again, bellowing, "Such irony. When have you ever used me? I'm left sitting on the windowsill like a flower vase!" Clank. Clank.
To that, I had nothing to say. Suddenly, I realized that I've been mistreating my mug all along. How could I not have known? If only I realized sooner. "I'm sorry! I didn't know you felt that way! Please, give me a second chance. I'll make it up to you!"
The mug ignored me, nearing the edge of the wooden table. "So many days of boredom. So many days of questioning my purpose in life. I'm sick and tired of it!" With one defiant jump, the mug leaped off the table edge.
"No!" I screamed, tears pooling in my eyes. In my blurry vision, I saw the mug plummet to its death, yet I could only watch in slow motion. With a piercing crash, the mug shattered into pieces on the floor, spilling its remains all over my carpet. Unbelievingly, I stumbled forward. My knees gave in, and I kneeled before the mug's fragments. Tears finally broke free of my eyes, streaming down my cheeks rapidly. Despair dawned my eyes. ll was too late.
If only I had known.
AN// Argg I have an application before tomorrow and WHY DID I LEAVE IT TILL THE LAST MINUTE
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30 Days of Writing
RastgeleIn which I attempt to write for thirty days, one prompt a day. Or, at least I try to make thirty entries.
