Friday, August 16, 2013

Pinata Birthday Party

I’m sorry I’m so late with my second writing project. I started it a while ago, but I haven’t been overly enthused about it, so I haven’t worked on it. I know, classic procrastination. Anyway, I can’t promise that it’s that great, but here you go:

Prompt # 2: Write the story of a child’s birthday party from the perspective of the piñata.

I began my life as a sticky mess of something called paiper mâché stuck onto a flexible frame. Two pairs of hands molded me and coaxed me into existence. Well, one pair coaxed; the other poked and prodded. The former pair was sturdy and larger than the other. The woman who belonged to those hands was focused and kept telling the other person to pay attention.

“I know you’re excited,” she kept saying, “but do you want to help with your piñata or not?”

Piñata? So that’s what I was to be called. If I had a nose, I would have wrinkled it at the other person and her pair of hands. They were grimy and never stayed still. She would pat at the wet stuff on my frame and then bounce around the room, screeching something about a birthday party and how excited she was. I wished that she would go away. But then she came skipping back to run her little hands through that nasty-looking paste stuff, drip it all over the newspaper pieces and the table, and slather me with it. The cold seeped into me. Then the woman who seemed to be in control put newspaper on me, covered in more sticky stuff. They left a hole in me, set me on top of the hole, and then disappeared for a long time.

I could feel the paiper mâché harden as I waited for them to come back. I couldn’t move; I was stuck on the table where they had left me. Eventually they returned, though. For a few minutes, both people worked on adding more layers to my body, but then the little one scurried out of the room. I was glad that she left. I didn’t think I could handle much more of her vigorous patting. The one with the bigger hands continued to layer me with gooey paper before leaving again. So I sat there, waiting. There is nothing else to do when you’re lying on a table but don’t have hands or feet to move with.

Noise emanated from other places that I didn’t know about. I could hear the little girl’s voice, but other sounds wafted in as well. Some kind of deep snapping sound reached me; then a terrifying animal came bounding into the room, colored brown and black and slobbering. The thing on his backside – a tail? – wagged back and forth at dizzying speed. He spotted me and launched toward the table, but then the woman dashed in and grabbed that red thing around his neck. As she pulled him from the room, she muttered something about dogs and crafts not mixing.

She came back a long time later and began to apply some more wet stuff. But this was not paper; it was just wet stuff, colored green. She dipped a brush into it and wiped the brush on me, over and over. Then she stuck strange pointy things on two sides of me. She added two little circles with smaller, wiggly circles inside of them and then stepped back, smiling.

“I think we have success,” she commented, then called, “Honey, do you want to see your alligator?”

No one came, though. She stepped out of the room; when she returned some time later, she carried a large bag in her hand, full of lumpy things with all kinds of different colors. She proceeded to dump the contents inside of me. At first, they bounced off my insides and rattled around, but then they settled into a nice pile that grew bigger and bigger. When she had emptied the bag, she put more paiper-mâché over the hole. Then she left again! I was really getting tired of this routine.

She did not come back until after the world had gone dark and then become light again. She picked me up, attached some strings to me, and then took me outside, where she handed me to larger person, a man. He stood on a metal thing with slats in it. When she handed me to him, he stepped up higher and tied my strings around a thick branch. He pushed me back and forth before going back down to the ground and taking the metal thing away.

People moved around the yard for a while, hanging up paper things called streamers and setting up tables with balloons on them. They left me alone, though. Then I heard a new sound.


The little girl ran into the house, followed by her mother. They didn’t come out for a while. I heard more ding-dongs, and the sounds of laughter from inside became louder and louder. Then, all of a sudden, a river of small people came pouring out into the yard. They were dressed in pretty dresses and were squealing in those high-pitched voices I’d already decided I hated. They sat down at the tables, and the woman came out with a cake, flickering with candles, in her hands. Singing and laughter and more shrieks ensued.
When they got up from the tables, though, their attention turned to me. The man who had put me up in the tree got a long, smooth, tan-colored stick and handed it to his daughter, who walked toward the tree. She grasped the stick fiercely and pursed her lips, studying me. What was she going to do?

Thwack! She hit me with the stick, making me swing from side to side. Ow! Why was she hitting me?! She did it again. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! I was rocking violently back and forth by now. Then she handed the stick to another little girl, who did the same thing! Ow! This hurt! Four more children whacked at me with the stick. And then, I suddenly broke open! I couldn’t stop myself; my frame simply cracked, spilling the stuff inside me all over the ground. Instant screaming ensued as the girls rushed into the middle of the mess. I continued to swing to and fro, feeling bruised and emptied. When they had gathered all the stuff up, the girls ran to another part of the yard. They continued to laugh and scream and stuff those little lumpy things into their mouths, but they left me alone, swinging in the wind.

The biggest struggle I had with this one was personifying something that has no ears but can hear things, has no eyes but can see things, and has no nerves but can feel pain. With some things, I couldn’t decide how a pinata would describe it. As the story goes on, he seems to know more about the world around him. In the end, it was a ridiculous prompt, so I had to remind myself to be a bit ridiculous. Let me know what you think - I'm open to suggestions and critiques.


  1. I think you did a good job. You portrayed the pinata's feelings well using descriptive language.

    1. Thank you! :) Description is something I have been working on.


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