ENGL0180 - Creative Nonfiction
I figured that I may as well post a couple of pieces from my creative nonfic class this semester… the prompt for this one was to write about something you love, but without using any personal pronouns.
I wrote about markers. No surprises there.
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Aisle 3 Royalty
Here, browsing is a pretense. Even attempting to meander seems pointless; all aimless paths eventually converge into an undisguised beeline for Aisle 3. Anonymous products, stacked high on sterile shelves, blend together as the carpet picks up speed beneath one-track-sneakers. Yellow sale tags whiz by unnoticed – piles of candy vie unsuccessfully for a passing glance – notebook pages flutter from the sidelines – a sharp left turn reveals the waiting aisle, the carpet blurs faster, and then, everything stops.
There they are, straight ahead, packed tightly into a case of enticingly shiny plastic. They are impeccably ordered and perfectly aligned. Under the fluorescent lights, the colors of their elegant caps blur together into a bright smear of rainbow against a dull patchwork background. Their hidden felt tips are gloriously free from the black ink-stains of age and misuse, just waiting to spill their vibrant secrets.
Even in their pedestrian packaging, they are breathtaking, almost magnetic. They are, irrefutably, superior.
In every CVS, they hang nonchalantly above the other marker sets, stealing attention from their measly eight-pack neighbors. These are, after all, the undisputed royalty of coloring apparatus. Other markers stretch patience with their limited lifespans and isolated shades. These markers stretch imagination. Most marker sets envision the world in just eight tones, but not this one. These markers streak the surroundings with a luxurious twenty hues, splitting blues into aquas and ceruleans and supplementing reds with maroons along the way. A day with this set of markers transforms the defenseless owner from a shopper into a synaesthete, fresh-eyed and subject to the whims of twenty vivid puppeteers.
Be aware – these markers are not for the meek. They demand to be used, and to be used towards much greater ends than mere coloring books and nametags. There’s no use in trying to exert control, because these markers overturn all familiar human-to-drawing-implement relationships. Once marker meets fingertips, no surface is safe. When asked to ‘color inside’, they shun lines and crave walls. They itch to trace patterns onto freshly-washed hands. They beg for margin-space, then inevitably spill over into once-pristine notes, like a raging river through a chipped dam. They take no rest. They inspire, they frustrate, they drive, they dribble; they do everything but submit to staying untouched in their shiny plastic covering.
These markers call the shots.
The artist is merely the naïve minion who dared to remove the twenty-pack from the rack and place it in a waiting shopping basket.
