Kitchen Warfare

[morgan_arlen]

Here's a fun little writing exercise (<300 words) to get the creative juices flowing:

Your protagonist is a common kitchen item. Your antagonist is... you.

Have fun with it, my response is below if you want to check it out.

-morgan

Spoiler: morgan's response

Oh for the love of Columbia, we're going to go through this again. I see the hands approaching, but my handle isn't ready for another round with the meat mitten attached to the maniac. We do this every light cycle, and each time it's a different horror. At least 70 turns, rough because the beans they throw in me are coated - sometimes with oils, sometimes with water, sometimes with pure loathing of my perfectly machined burr. At least it was perfectly machined, several thousand cycles ago. Now it's probably withered, grinding those destructive little buggers with less than the perfect German precision that once was mine. Oh how I miss the days of being a display item. When I arrived here, I had my own hard little case that made me special. I haven't seen it in years. I could be disassembled to be cleaned properly, now I get lucky if the maniac takes a toothpick to me periodically to clean out crevices. My magnetic cup perfectly clicked into place - oh what a joyous sound. Now it just thuds in place thanks to the permanent bean dust attached to the magnets.

I suspect my purpose may, though, be greater. For if this maniac acts this way to me prior to the caffeinating, what sort of world would we live in if they didn't receive that dose of sweet nectar. Perhaps I suffer for them. Perhaps I'm the hero not only of my coffee corner, but of all who encounter this monster throughout the day. Perhaps that can make me at peace.

Or perhaps I'm just delusional.

 

[Wamba2K]

It's back.
It stalks through the empty cold, fingers trailing along wood. I can barely make out the shape of it through the crevasse above.
Drawers are opened and instantly shut. Again and again, each time with greater vigor. It's searching for something.
It's speaking, but I can't understand. The words are garbled nonsense.
Something clatters on the floor and the fluffy creature yelps. Hurried footsteps follow, fading into the distance.
More speaking, faster and drenched with frustration.
I wish I could understand. I wish I could help. But I am stuck at the bottom of this crevasse. I can only watch as it passes back and forth, searching the spaces above.
More doors opening and slamming shut. Thurs against wooden surfaces. Furious yells and heavy footsteps.
It stops then. It stands above me, two eyes like moons at the top of the crevasse.
It speaks and I realize it has been looking for me.
I shudder as it reaches into the crevasse, fingers splaying slowly.
Such is the life of being the last good kitchen knife.

 

[morgan_arlen]

It's back.
It stalks through the empty cold, fingers trailing along wood. I can barely make out the shape of it through the crevasse above.
Drawers are opened and instantly shut. Again and again, each time with greater vigor. It's searching for something.
It's speaking, but I can't understand. The words are garbled nonsense.
Something clatters on the floor and the fluffy creature yelps. Hurried footsteps follow, fading into the distance.
More speaking, faster and drenched with frustration.
I wish I could understand. I wish I could help. But I am stuck at the bottom of this crevasse. I can only watch as it passes back and forth, searching the spaces above.
More doors opening and slamming shut. Thurs against wooden surfaces. Furious yells and heavy footsteps.
It stops then. It stands above me, two eyes like moons at the top of the crevasse.
It speaks and I realize it has been looking for me.
I shudder as it reaches into the crevasse, fingers splaying slowly.
Such is the life of being the last good kitchen knife.

I love how you don't know what the item is until the very last line, but you start imagining what it could be way before!