The Razor

It’s hard being the sharpest one in the room. At first I thought it was fun because everyone told me how clever I was. I slashed through a jungle of misrepresentation when someone once called me cruel. Like paper cuts, but stronger, they went to pieces when I was done.

Is everyone who is considered smart also considered mean? Only the dumb are allowed their innocence. Only the smart are truly persecuted. When I told them I was right and that they were always wrong, I knew I proved my point with exact precision.

The Purse and The Scarf

There was once a purse more solid and secure than any other purse in the town. She was large with a dull leather body, and a strong strap that dangled by her side. The only problem she faced was that she felt perpetually empty.

I need something to fill me up, she constantly thought. Something logical. Something I can rely on. She stuffed herself with money. Loose dollar bills and coins weighed her down. With her new wealth, she could buy anything she wanted.

She bought a wallet for organization. She bought chapstick so that she wouldn’t crack. She bought a comb, floss, band aids (just in case) and a pad of paper. Still, she felt empty. Her items were necessities, but she still needed more.

The other purses she saw looked fancy. They were patterned with the help of different stitches. As a collection of material, they stood together, fabric clinging to the outside of their leather. They had color and life where her body felt heavy and dark. When the purse looked at the others, she could only feel sadness.

Then one day at the thrift store the purse saw a scarf. It was pink, flowy, and blew in the air conditioning.

“You look like the perfect scarf,” the purse said.

“Thank you, but I’m far from perfect,” the scarf replied.

“But why?”

“I’m too flighty. Without something to tie me down, I’ll blow away. You are the perfect one. So secure and strong. If only I had your presence.”

“You wouldn’t want to be me,” the purse lamented. “I may be secure, but I feel completely empty. Can I use you to make me feel whole inside?”

The scarf thought for a moment. “No, I can not fill you up.”

“But I need you. I have all this stuff inside me, but I’m still so empty.”

“I can not fill you up. I’m too light and there is not enough of me to fill that hole.”

The purse started to cry. “What will I do?”

“I’ll tell you what,” the scarf said after careful consideration. “We can become friends. Arm in arm, we can travel throughout life together. You’ll tie me down, and I’ll support you.  I’ll never be able to fill you up completely, but a part of me will cover you with color.”

The purse stopped crying. She held out her strap and the scarf clung on. Together they would face the days side by side.

Policeman Statue

Photo by: Tom Haynes

http://www.TheDrabble.wordpress.com

There was once a man who had all the authority in the world, but no one to talk to. He traveled far and wide across the country in search of a friend, but to his despair, found none.

He talked to the woman with the pretty green and white skirt. But when she saw him, done up in his police outfit, she was too scared to say hello.

He talked to the children sitting outside of a school playground. But when they saw his erect posture, they knew he was no one to mess around with. They too were too scared to say hello.

Finally one afternoon the man with authority talked to a salesman at a corner market off the side of a busy road.

“Would you like these magical beads? If you rub them between your fingers and make a wish, it will come true.”

“How much are they?” The policeman asked skeptically.

“Twenty dollars. They are good luck.”

Reluctantly, the policeman paid for the beads and rolled them across his fingers one at a time. I wish I had friends. I wish I had friends. I wish I had friends. He chanted silently. Ten minutes passed and nothing happened. Fifteen minutes passed and still nothing. After a half hour, the man felt stupid waiting on the side of the road.

After forty five minutes, the salesman smiled and asked him if he would like to go for a walk.

“It’s such a beautiful day out. We must enjoy it.”

“No, no,” the man said quickly. “You cheated me with these faulty beads. I have no choice but to arrest you.”

The policeman walked to his car, fishing out a pair of shiny silver handcuffs. When he returned, the salesman was nowhere to be found. Just like much of his life, the policeman found himself standing alone.

http://www.cnn.com/2015/04/30/us/nationwide-freddie-gray-protests/

The Straw

Photograph by Tom Haynes

http://www.TheDrabble.wordpress.com

Dear Potential Date,

I will let you know how I feel at all times. I’m very up front. I’m attracted to naturally red, full lips. No lipstick, please. I also prefer real beauty. I’m very picky when it comes to looks. If you’re older than thirty, please don’t reply.

I’m not the kind to call back right away. If we have a good time, I’ll let you know, but I’m not into that whole clingy thing. My idea of a perfect date is hanging out in bars that serve Belgian beer in a glass. No bottles for me. If you’re too cheap to buy your own drinks, please, don’t respond to this ad.

I’m looking for a carefree type. Not the kind that’s going to hold me down. Not the kind that’s going to get mad every time I’m with another. I can’t be tied down right now. I prefer more of the Bohemian lifestyle.

In short, shoot me an email if you don’t suck. (I already do that well enough on my own)

– The Straw

The Mop

Photo by Linda Daunter

I’ve been pushed around all my life, but it’s never bothered me. The hands that touch my surface can only strengthen my core. I’ve watched other mops come and go in the business and they all have the same disposition. They complain, they whine and eventually they snap.

The first time I met Sally, she seemed like a rag doll right from the start. She had blond stringy hair and a natural knack for playing the victim. She used to tell me about the all nighters at the University of Virginia cafeteria. She would push her soppy sad story along the linoleum floor with a vengeance that served no one. Did the janitor care? No. Did the students care? No. Did I care? No.

I said to her: You are nobody’s toy.

I prefer not to think of myself as a mere object, but instead as a tool to make life more beautiful and manageable for the people around me. Am I used? Perhaps. Am I useful? Absolutely.

• A Word Of Substance is currently accepting submissions of photography. Your photograph must be of an object to be published on the blog. If interested, please submit your photograph and the name in which you’d like to have appear on the blog to: Alicealgood@gmail.com