I guess it has been about a year since I posted... that's a long time. Wow. It's 1:30. I love this time of not sleeping.
I'm not really sure that I know how to navigate this well, but I was reading a fanfiction on ljmouse's journal and was inspired to post. I wrote this short story for a prompt in English one day and I need an opinion. I was typing the story out and decided that it didn't look as good typed, however, I would try to improve it. So, today, er, yesterday, I edited it, exactly two moths after it was originally written. I'm not sure which is better. In hopes that my dearest sister will read this post since she is currently residing out of state I shall post both versions here. Both are very similar, but what do you think?
Write a conversation between a computer and a pencil.
Version one:
The computer had once been new. Once, it had been top-of-the-line. Considered small, fast, and handsome, it had basked in the glory.
It was no longer new. Years had passed since then. It sat, thoughtlessly shoved in a corner of the basement. A boy would sit in the chair sometimes and turn the computer on. The boy; however, no longer smiled with joy at being able to play a game on a computer. Now the boy growled. He hit the computer, yelling at it to go faster.
The computer was lonely. It regretted how arrogant it had once been, snubbing the couch and other furniture because they were not new. Because of it, they would no longer talk to the computer. One day, the boy dropped a pencil.
"Hello?" the computer tentatively queried.
"Hello," greeted the pencil cordially.
Both objects sat in silence for a time, neither able to think of anything to say. Finally, the computer decided to risk further dialogue.
"Why hasn't the boy come back for you?" the device asked. The question was not meant to be mean or sarcastic. The pencil, nonetheless, was melancholy when it answered.
"He doesn't care much for pencils." There was a pause. "We really aren't that special. We don't cost much. We're easily replaceable. It's not as if I were a nice pen. He cares more about them. Aside from that, most of my eraser is gone. He's sharpened me so many times I'm barely here anymore."
"I understand," the computer said softly. "There was a time when he was so happy to play my games. They're old now though. I'm not fast compared to the new computers." "New" sounded like a curse. "I don't have memory or space to do what he wants anymore."
There was a contemplative silence between the two.
"They never tell you that new doesn't last long. They never tell you that it'll be so lonely once it's gone."
Nothing more was said. It was understood. That was the way it always was.
Version two:
The computer had once been new. Once, it had been top-of-the-line. Considered small, fast, and handsome, it had basked in the glory.
It was no longer new. Years had passed since then. It sat, thoughtlessly shoved in a corner of the basement. A boy would sit in the chair sometimes and turn the computer on. The boy; however, no longer smiled with joy at being able to play a game on a computer as he once had. Now the boy growled. He hit the computer, yelling at it to go faster. It tried to do as he commanded, but the computer could no longer meet the boy's demands… or approval.
The computer was lonely. It regretted how arrogant it had once been, snubbing the couch and other furniture because they were not new. Because of it, they would no longer talk to the computer. One day, the boy dropped a pencil.
"Hello?" the computer tentatively queried.
"Hello," greeted the pencil cordially.
Both objects sat in silence for a time, neither able to think of anything to say. Finally, the computer decided to risk further dialogue.
"Why hasn't the boy come back for you?" the device asked. The question was not meant to be mean or sarcastic. It had been a long time since the computer would consider such callousness. The pencil, nonetheless, was melancholy when it answered.
"He doesn't care much for pencils." There was a pause. "We really aren't that special. We don't cost much. We're easily replaceable. It's not as if I were a nice pen. He cares more about them. Aside from that, most of my eraser is gone. He's sharpened me so many times I'm barely here anymore."
"I understand," the computer said softly. "There was a time when he was so happy to play my games. They're old now though. I'm not fast compared to the new computers." "New" sounded like a curse. "I don't have memory or space to do what he wants anymore."
There was a contemplative silence between the two.
"They never tell you that new doesn't last long. They never tell you that it'll be so lonely once it's gone."
Nothing more was said. It was understood. That was the way it always was.
It still rather amuses me that I would turn such a prompt into such a depressing story, but whatever.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
dorky
lethargic
worried
annoyed
optimistic