Post by Siren on Mar 4, 2008 18:32:31 GMT -7
This was a creative personal response to a painting called "The Accident." I got 87% on it, which isn't bad for an Advanced Placement English class. I'll try to find a pic of the painting i wrote on, once i figure out the name of the artist.
I am going to tell you the story of “The Accident,” but first I must relate to you what it is like to be me. I am the front wheel of a bicycle, the more important one, I think. I lead everything, my plethora of tiny, grippy feet making sure that we are on the right track. I am the wheel that turns the bike, left or right, and that is a very important job. Without me, there would be many more accidents.
Now, usually the woman takes very good care of me. She keeps me full of air, keeps me clean and dry, and exercises me regularly. I am important to her, though she does the same for the rest of the bicycle. I lavish in the attention I get from her, shining in my metallic way in a show of appreciation. In return, she smiles in that satisfied way, knowing that she has done her best. This is our way of showing affection towards each other, knowing that without the other life wouldn’t be quite the same.
The care she takes only proves to strengthen my own opinion of myself, for, why would she care for me like this if I was not important? As I stand at attention to wait for our next adventure, I contemplate the simplicity of my existence and the happiness that that existence brings to the woman. And then, I see her, ready again to take me for a walk. Where will we go today? I wonder in silent anticipation.
She swings her leg up over the seat and prepares the bicycle for our newest adventure. Pushing up the kickstand with her foot, she has a hold of the handle bars and I wait for her to push us forward. I am ready once more to take the lead, to turn us away from danger and a certain accident. The anticipation, every time she starts us forward, is exhilarating; my spokes shine with my excitement.
I feel her push off from the floor, sending my limbs spinning in a whirl of motion. As we gain momentum, my spokes begin to blend together into an indiscernible circle of aluminum. My tread grips the floor of the large, empty room, and as the handlebars turn, I lead us in a wide arc, beginning to circle the room. I realize that she does not intend on leaving the room and am slightly disappointed, for no one else will get to see me at my magnificent work.
We traveled slowly about the room at first, the scene of “The Accident,” continuing on in that circular motion, like my own shape. We passed the wall socket twice before we gained speed, and then twice more before the handle bars took a sharp turn, leading me into a smaller circle. Our combined lean was precarious and startling, and soon I found that I could no longer control our direction. Wobbling slightly, I foresaw the accident that would soon befall us.
Suddenly we had fallen, and we lay in a tangle of limbs, metal and rubber upon the floor. In shock, I spun a few times more before coming a rest, my futile attempt at continuing the movement realized. The woman was also in a state of shock, as she looked up from the ground silently, her shoe sprawled a few feet away from our catastrophic entanglement. She looked as if she thought the fall was some act of treachery on my part as she came out of her shocked countenance. She flung me forward, away from her body, and walked away in a flurry of tears. I watched as the woman who had once loved me and cared for me so well walked away from me and wondered if that was the last I would see of her. I felt mistreated, as I lay on the ground in a heap of metal and rubber, left completely alone to suffer.
I felt her treatment of me was unjust, that her assumption that it was my fault was wrong. It was my job to lead us to safety, but she had taken that out of my hands with the handle bars turned towards the floor. If I had any tear ducts, I would certainly have made a mess on the floor as I watched the woman walk away, sure that her anger, or discontent, was an injustice to me. My only thought was that she should have picked me up as well before she had walked away, the only action that would have reassured me that we were still on good terms. Why did I deserve to be left in my current state upon the floor?
I am going to tell you the story of “The Accident,” but first I must relate to you what it is like to be me. I am the front wheel of a bicycle, the more important one, I think. I lead everything, my plethora of tiny, grippy feet making sure that we are on the right track. I am the wheel that turns the bike, left or right, and that is a very important job. Without me, there would be many more accidents.
Now, usually the woman takes very good care of me. She keeps me full of air, keeps me clean and dry, and exercises me regularly. I am important to her, though she does the same for the rest of the bicycle. I lavish in the attention I get from her, shining in my metallic way in a show of appreciation. In return, she smiles in that satisfied way, knowing that she has done her best. This is our way of showing affection towards each other, knowing that without the other life wouldn’t be quite the same.
The care she takes only proves to strengthen my own opinion of myself, for, why would she care for me like this if I was not important? As I stand at attention to wait for our next adventure, I contemplate the simplicity of my existence and the happiness that that existence brings to the woman. And then, I see her, ready again to take me for a walk. Where will we go today? I wonder in silent anticipation.
She swings her leg up over the seat and prepares the bicycle for our newest adventure. Pushing up the kickstand with her foot, she has a hold of the handle bars and I wait for her to push us forward. I am ready once more to take the lead, to turn us away from danger and a certain accident. The anticipation, every time she starts us forward, is exhilarating; my spokes shine with my excitement.
I feel her push off from the floor, sending my limbs spinning in a whirl of motion. As we gain momentum, my spokes begin to blend together into an indiscernible circle of aluminum. My tread grips the floor of the large, empty room, and as the handlebars turn, I lead us in a wide arc, beginning to circle the room. I realize that she does not intend on leaving the room and am slightly disappointed, for no one else will get to see me at my magnificent work.
We traveled slowly about the room at first, the scene of “The Accident,” continuing on in that circular motion, like my own shape. We passed the wall socket twice before we gained speed, and then twice more before the handle bars took a sharp turn, leading me into a smaller circle. Our combined lean was precarious and startling, and soon I found that I could no longer control our direction. Wobbling slightly, I foresaw the accident that would soon befall us.
Suddenly we had fallen, and we lay in a tangle of limbs, metal and rubber upon the floor. In shock, I spun a few times more before coming a rest, my futile attempt at continuing the movement realized. The woman was also in a state of shock, as she looked up from the ground silently, her shoe sprawled a few feet away from our catastrophic entanglement. She looked as if she thought the fall was some act of treachery on my part as she came out of her shocked countenance. She flung me forward, away from her body, and walked away in a flurry of tears. I watched as the woman who had once loved me and cared for me so well walked away from me and wondered if that was the last I would see of her. I felt mistreated, as I lay on the ground in a heap of metal and rubber, left completely alone to suffer.
I felt her treatment of me was unjust, that her assumption that it was my fault was wrong. It was my job to lead us to safety, but she had taken that out of my hands with the handle bars turned towards the floor. If I had any tear ducts, I would certainly have made a mess on the floor as I watched the woman walk away, sure that her anger, or discontent, was an injustice to me. My only thought was that she should have picked me up as well before she had walked away, the only action that would have reassured me that we were still on good terms. Why did I deserve to be left in my current state upon the floor?