Grown adults stifle creativity in life unless they’re naturally creative people and they cannot help but burgeon forth with ideas and wonderment. Harsh thing about that perceived lack of creativity in adults is, we all have a form of creativity burgeoning inside! So, my class begins with a free-writing session … A forced free-writing session. It’s wonderful. Each week, I post a creative writing prompt picture and the class has 15 minutes to write! Each week, the stories loosen up. Creative juices flow. This past week, several of the stories jumped at me. I asked student permission to share! Their responses are below this picture (art design by Doris Salcedo) ….
by K. B.
“All of these chairs,” I thought. “Where di all of these chairs come from?”
There I was, surrounded by all of the natural beauty that Detroit had to offer, and all I could think about was these chairs. wooden chairs, plastic chairs, metal chairs, chairs that looked like they were older than I am. Chairs for adults and chairs for kids. What is the deal with these chairs? My train of thoughts was interrupted by the sight of an aged man hobbling towards the pile. He had a chair in his hand! He extended the chair in my direction with a reach, “Young man, give me a hand, eh?”
I didn’t even think about what was going on at that moment, I just grabbed the splintered brown chair out of the man’s grip.
“Now then,” he said.”Give her the old heave ho!” As he said, this he made a motion with his arms like was throwing the chair himself. “Heave ho! Heave ho!” he kept repeating it with an excited tone and a gleam in his eye. It made me chuckle.
I reared back and threw the chair into the pile with all of my might, as though I was going to be the last person ever to throw a stupid chair on this stupid pile. I looked back at the old man who was still standing there. As our eyes met, he perked up.
“Feel better?” he asked.
I peered at the giant worthless mountain of discarded seats that lay before me. When I turned my head to answer him, he was gone.
“Yes, I do.”
by K. H.
Oh my god!! I was walking down main street, you know the street that has that frozen custard place. Just past the hot dog vendor. Anyway, I saw this huge wall of chairs. All kinds of chairs. There were kitchen chairs, recliners, desk chairs. It looked like Rothman Furniture Warehouse threw up.
So, I stopped and asked this guy, Harold, “What up with all the chairs?”
He told me it was the last entrance into the city, and they used the chairs to build a wall to keep out the ZOMBIES!
“What Zombies? I have been catching Pokemon for the last forty five days like some Pokemon catcher guy … Harold, are you listening! Stop trying to bite me, Harold! Oh, no, you’re a Zo ….”
That was the last thing Kortney had recorded. We don’t know what happened to the Pokemon. We’re afraid they all died.
“Are you serious?” Herbert asked incredulously. “Just right out the window?’
“Yep,” Nancy replied. “That’s what they said.”
With that, they began in the first classroom at the end of the hall, and continued down until every last chair on the fifth floor through the eighth had been tossed into the alley.
Herbert asked again as they hiked the stairs to the ninth floor. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to repaint these and keep using them?”
“Nope,” said Nancy. “It’s not about the costs. They want to start using this new method where everyone sits on a rug in a circle.”
“You’re serious? … No, I can’t tell with you.”
“No, of course I’m not serious. They just got a good price on the furniture and the demo and disposal guys said it’s easier if they dump all the chairs out there.”
“Oh,” Herbert said, panting at the top of the stairwell.
Nancy wondered if Herb sometimes just spoke to have something to say. This was pretty close to the truth. Herbert couldn’t handle her being silent, so he scrambled to say anything at all just to elicit a response.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen: James D. Chairstacker.
The man who had balanced many of chairs in his day looked to break yet another record. But at last he is no more after stacking 6 million four hundred and ninety three thousand chairs on top of a three story home in down town. Tonight he is dead after the tower of chairs came crashing down like the tower of Babel. The through street of 3rd is completely blocked off tonight as crews work feverishly to clean the mess up. Mrs. Chairstacker arrived on location and his this to say …
“James lived as he died, surrounded with chairs.”
Onlookers search for anyone who may have been caught in the avalanche of chairs and there’s plenty of room for onlookers and injured to have a seat as we wait for the mess to be cleaned up.
LOL … hope you enjoyed these too. Loved the picture. Loved my student’s responses to it. There were many more, but these in particular I had to share. Such creativity.
Free-writing is strenous, stressful, challenging, freeing, refreshing … the gamut of writer’s feelings happens in front of me as my student’s write. Each week, I see more of the latter part of the list and smiles, smirks, light bulbs over heads. Good stuff to free the mind to express self and let creative juices roll.
Thanks to my students to allowing me to share!🙂