Cardboard Cutout Street - A story for writers




Hi everyone,

This dark satire ditty shot itself out. I hope it helps someone, somewhere, as I do so love to help... Zakgirl (in my favorite posting color of blue, of course!).

A story for writers by Zakgirl.


Today is one of those dull grey stormy afternoons stuck inside this body. There isn’t much else to do but sit, ponder and walk around aimlessly with Mr. Imagination tucked tight by my side. No-one notices; you would never guess it here on Cardboard Cutout Street just past Fifth and Main. Every day is the same, beautiful skies, bright pastel colored houses, perfect tree lined streets, a gentle breeze with not a crack in the footpath on which to break your mothers back. All perfect here, square, centered, and boring. Ever so boring! Unless of course you count those pretty pink and blue cumulous nimbi, they are pretty sweet. But, you know sweet gets boring too after a while.

You see the trouble is I’m a story in someone’s head being held back by their refusal to use Mr. Imagination. Today, I have got myself so stuck I cannot move any further forward. No matter how high I jump, how loud I scream, how much I show my intense emotion, my overflowing zest for life and love he doesn’t hear a word I say. Not one word.

Oh yeah, and it’s all fine for you guys too.

“Yeah. You guys, reading. Yeah, I’m speaking to you!”

You gather round, peer at me, poke me with a stick, stand back, laugh and joke and all the while I am becoming more hurt, withdrawn and sullen.

Why are you judging me?

What have I done to deserve all this attention? Bad attention.

I only wanted to share with others and have them enjoy me but alas no-one understands where I am coming from and I sink deeper and deeper into the dark cold shell where I pamper my despair.

And all those Publishers ever say is,

“Anonymity has no effect on whether we will accept or reject your story!”

Like, who cares?

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