Peotry woke up, and made a decision. It was a rather heady experience, truth be told. She lay on her bed for a good while with her eyes open, watching the ceiling watching her, waiting to see which might blink first.
There was too much creativity in the world, she had decided. Too much, and not enough people using it properly. So much was going to waste, sitting around with dust on its edges, or being abused like a child in a dirty factory. This would not do, Poetry declared.
And so that day she gathered up all the creativity in a jar, careful not to squish it with her fingers when she plucked it fluttering from the air, or peeled it from sticky corners, or snatched it from grasping minds. She gathered it all up in her jar, and carefully tightened the lid, so it couldn't escape. She took the jar back to her house and gave it to the monster under the bed for safekeeping.
Then Poetry lay back down, proud, certain that today she had done a very good thing.
1 comment:
Yay! Thank you, that's a good addition to the story. I was wondering if you were going to be around after july 11th. hmmm? hmmm?
[oak searcher]
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