The Lost Idea Book! & The Journal’s Revenge, a :) flash fiction by Ashley Houston.

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This is an awesome day er well yesterday was also an awesome day…

I found my lost idea book! I cannot tell you how happy I was to find my idea book! For days I was looking for this book, I finally lost hope and even wrote a short poem about it. This book has a bunch of poems and ideas (of course) that I have been jotting down onto it’s worn pages for months now. So when I was unable to find it, it drove me a bit batty because I looked everywhere. At least I thought I did, I tend to lose stuff a lot so I asked my husband to help me locate my lost book but even he could not find it.

Guess what? My lost idea book was found hiding in the dirty clothes basket. Now how this happened, I am not really sure. Although I have a theory that the book grew legs and hid itself. As to why my book would do such a thing, I don’t know! 😦

Of course the book did not actually grow legs. Just think if inanimate objects could suddenly have the breath of life breathed into them! What would these objects do? Would they move away or snuggle up to their perceptive owners? If they were alive it would not be right to called them owned, they would be more like friends, right? Friends that get to see a side to you that most people don’t.

Yes, I think I will write a flash fiction about this…

Of course this is all made up and no way relates to real life..because journals don’t talk and then become upset and hide from their owners…noope that will never happen.

                     

                 The Journal’s Revenge. 😀

       The journal did not know what to say as he soaked up tears and ink. 

     “Don’t cry.” Was all that he could muster up to whisper.

      There was no pause in the tears or the ink and so the journal bore the bundle of emotions he was receiving in silence.

      The journal’s friend was too lost in her own world to reply back.

      Day after day the journal endured the writing, the occasional tear, the various ink stains and the silence. It was the silence that bothered him the most.

      For years he would whisper words of encouragement, even question his friend about what she was writing.

     The the book became curious about the world that his friend lived in.What is the world like beyond the words that you write onto my yellowing pages.

     “What is the world like outside my old pages?” the worn  journal asked, little specks of dust floating lazily above him as he ever so slightly moved his yellowing pages.

     Still his friend would not say anything, it was always just her pen smudging lines of ink onto his now frail pages.

     Then one he just stopped. He stopped talking and tried to stop caring but it was hard. So hard when, after all those years he had been with his friend through the good and the bad writing spells. He was not even sure why he could even talk or what the point of any of it was.

      “Where is that journal?” A high pitched and shaky voice echoed through the small apartment.

      Suddenly she felt alone and was not sure as to why.

      Frantically she looked anywhere and everywhere she could think to look. She even looked in places where she logically knew it should not be.

     She knew that she did not live in a logical world because for years her journal had been what kept her going forward and now it was gone.

     She never did find her journal but she could occasionally hear the faint turning of pages and light laughter. When she followed the sound all she found was her empty bedroom.

     So the book decided to hide itself away from his friend. He was hidden safely in the one place that she never did think to look. He was under her bed and every now and then he would laugh at the fact she was unable to find him.

                                               The End. Or Is It? AHAHA…:D

Anything can serve as inspiration when writing! That is part of the fun as well as the beauty of writing, you can literally write about anything that you can imagine. So what would you write about? If you had one thing that suddenly came to life, something that you used all the time, what would it be? Would you or your character ignore it or treat it as a dear friend? What would, or rather what could happen?

 

 

 

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