The Flair Challenge is a challenge. A pretty boring way to start, I know. Click this to know more.
So basically… some friends and I have jumble up words so that there is a wacky topic to write about. And our job is to try to make sense and a story based on the topic, and we have to be as creative as we can. Here it is, if you’d like to read what I put down. I’d like some suggestions too. Hee hee, wait till you find out what the topic is…
Topic: Bricks Sleep Stupidly
Hi. My name is Brick. And I’m a brick. Well, bricks aren’t really good at naming. But otherwise, bricks are good at quite some things. They’re good at… despising themselves for being bricks. Aaugh, okay, I give up. I hate being a brick. And you know what? All bricks hate being bricks. And it ain’t surprising… bricks were made only for one reason. For those slimy-gloved builders to construct stuff. So all we bricks are no more than hardened blobs of clay and shale. I mean, who likes being that?
We enclose houses. We make sure that there is blockage for robber-guys. I know some who tried to break through us. They were bozo men, kicking at us and punching hard with their fists. It didn’t cause any damage though… not to us, in the least. But the poor lads yelled loudly. And by loudly, I mean so loudly that it was painful to hear. I know a fellow who banged at the wall in which I reside, and he shrieked so loudly that he woke up the cranky ol’ grandma next door in the middle of the night. I don’t really want to relate to you the horrors that took place after that.
We do a lot of work, that’s my point. But people hardly stop to admire us, to see the beauty of our interlocking pattern. I know some friends in Paris who are pretty well-off. After a day of praise and admiration from passers-by, they sleep with comfort. What sleep is to a brick is not what it is to you, as bricks have no eyes to close. We bricks sense our surroundings. We can know when there is noise, we can know when there is silence. We know when it is day and when it is night. So when a hard day passes by in which all we do is silently stand in the place we stood for decades, we rest our attention-desiring minds for the night and wait hopelessly for the next day.
If you ever meet us one day, will you spare some time for us? >sigh< Maybe not. See why I hate being a brick?
When the bricks in Paris sleep with glee,
Us, blobs of clay lay wearily
After a day with none to see
Us blobs of clay sleep stupidly.