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Kids' poetry improves reading and writing skills @ My Stories And Poems. Kids read stories, write poems, take lessons, and get critiques by published children's author, R. Renée Bembry.

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Tale of an Inanimate Object


by R. Renée Bembry



What am I?


This story, or tale as some like to say, is about an inanimate object and requires visitors to figure out what it is while reading the clues.


Another requirement is that readers must also put on their thinking caps because this inanimate object vies not to make things too easy.


This object likes to play hard to get and expects readers to really put forth thinking efforts to understand its clues while figuring out what it is... 


So go ahead now... 


See if you can do it...



The Tale...


Bedazzling the world, proudly I sashay across the floor. Always on stage for the globe is my pedestal. Sparkling... Shining... Perhaps a bit pompously, do I behold this enviable honor of esteem.

 

Eyes illuminate as awestricken pupils gaze in wonderment at ocherous rays inexhaustibly emitting from the unprecedented casting formulated to perfect my shapely arc.

 

Irises glisten as blissfully bragging lights, dancing with elegance from meticulously pared cuts to my gems, pounce upon their lenses. Beckoning... Enticing... Imploring them... Shine back at me.

 

Despite the seeming conceit, the outright arrogance flawlessly spewing amid my diction, I daresay, and though it pangs me to admit it, life has not always endowed me with this silver spoon c’est magnifique. You see... I came into these illustrious riches via extreme and heated circumstances.

 

Once, a blazing fire, of the Fahrenheit sort, threatened to reach a threshold of 2000 degrees while mercilessly exploiting the natural contours of my existence. Burning... Softening... Liquefying every atom of my former, though ordinary, construction... Like a lonesome dogie, stiff as a dot in green pastures, I screamed the shouts that would never be heard by welcomed rescuers. 

 

Then, as if hungry hands were rushing to cool boiled eggs hastily removed from flame, a presence moisturized... chilled... reshaped my born-again body into an unfamiliar curvilinear sculpture. By and by, raucous pounding beset my shimmering gems as inexplicable pain tormented every ounce of my flesh...every karat of my soul. ‘Twas not until tongs ceased to squeeze... temperatures failed to escalate... and slits strove to heal that normalcy began to return.


Normalcy, I say, and yet, the figure that once identified me had vanished. Never to be seen again, the old familiar form had unwillingly mutated into the camber that is now me.

 

Unrecognizable was I when first gazing into that mirror... The tall elegant one she stood before... The mysteriously flabbergasting one that possesses unique abilities to frighten me and to reassure me, all at once, in the teeniest of glances.

                                                                                     

Through her magnificence, a change of fate fell upon me... A fate via which (Can you believe it?) ‘she’ bedazzled ‘me’—assisted in lifting my core to its current catharsis!

 

In return, all I live for now is to welcome each and every opportunity to grovel at her feet, to authenticate her femininity, to reassert her authority. For it will always be Her Highness that I owe my heightened state of affairs... my superlative livelihood... my enviable position atop her delicate, yet complicated, royal head.

 

Did you guess what I am?


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