'Em Grey Curtains

“I really hate typing,” Mrs Peacock said irritably to herself. She stared across the room full of books and stared longingly at the window. Nothing would please her more than to grab the knife which sat on the desk in front of her and rip the dreadful grey curtains to shreds. Her fingers carefully danced on the hard wood surface in thought. While her mind wandered away to the place just beyond the curtains. The very place she could not reach. She had been stuck in the dreadful dusty library for days and was sure that she would never breathe a breath of fresh again. Her back slumped uncharacteristically against her chair in the most unladylike fashion imaginable. She small sigh escaped her carefully painted lips as her eyes closed to let her have the peace of a daydream. She could just feel the satisfaction of as tearing sound of dull grey reached her delicate ears. The triumph welled up in her as she felt the threads of fabric fraying at her fingertips.

A knock was heard at the door and she sat up with a bolt. Her eyes locked on the on the fine dark oak that had once been so keenly polished but had now started to fade. Quietly, steps could be heard fading away down the hall. She glared and then looked down the innocent little knife sitting on her desk.

A/N: Again, another game from my writing club. This time the game was called "Clue". In the game an item, person and room is selected, (yes, from the board game) and then you have to write about it.

The Elegant Bow

She sparkled and danced within what could have been her best friend but put too much emphasis on her want for independence. The ear became her captor and her tormentor, as the elegant bow tried to escape his clutches. Nothing would have pleased her more than to explore the world around her. She called just belong her for help to the shirt, the sweater, anyone that might listen to her. No one did.

Bow took matters into her own folds, as she carefully and quietly wiggled out of her back. Nothing would her stop her from exploring the cold world of white swirls or golden flashes of green. She could taste freedom on the very tip of her tongue just before she fell to the ground. Off she went, her back calling softly beside to come back. Off she went to explore the world never to be seen by those who had loved so dearly again.


A/N: So this was written at one of the meetings writing club and I figured that I should actually post it. We were playing a writing game where we had to write about an article of clothing that the person sitting opposite to us was wearing.