Bits and bobs
I have done the homework and written a ficlet for the flash challenge for
fantas_magoria
The episode of the week is The Harvest and the challenge was a photo of the things Buffy kept in her trunk. This is what I came up with.
I apologise for any errors. This is unbeta'd.
Bits and Bobs
Feed back, yes please.
“Quiet! She’s coming!”
Everything in the chest froze into the inanimate objects they were. The mistress of the box opened the lid and then lifted off the top tray to get at the sharp and deadly things beneath. The objects in the tray breathed a sigh of relief when they were put back and the lid to the trunk was snapped shut.
“Phew! That was close,” the clock ticked.
“You should have been keeping time, that is what you’re supposed to do,” the cat grumbled, licking its plush fur.
“I can’t help it if the mistress keeps ungodly hours,” the clock whined, its cartoon face glaring at the cat.
“Hush! The Mom might be about.”
“As if you care,” sniped the pretty-in-pink autograph book, jealous of the recently acquired seashell. The book was bereft. No one had entered a signature for years. It wondered why it was here with all the mistress’s cherished things. It hadn’t been looked at in an age.
The silver trophy hummed to itself. It was held in high esteem. Its owner had won it in a cheerleader contest. It knew that it was top of the pile, so to speak.
“We all care,” muttered the goggles. It felt that it held a rare position in the box. It actually came in contact with its owner’s face. It clung to the mistress’s flesh when she was in hot pursuit of pretty seashells. “None of us want to be turfed out. If the Mom discovers the mistress’s hidden stash, we’ll all get the boot. Mom’s don’t think straight when they’ve been lied to.”
The basket yapped, “We don’t want the mistress to get into any more trouble than she is. She has enough to worry about.”
“She is the slayer, after all,” the clock reminded them all. “What will she do to us if she finds out we’re more than what we seem?”
“But she loves us,” objected the trophy. “She wouldn’t destroy someone she loves, would she?”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” the cat meowed. “Love can be a fickle thing.”
The End.