Young Writers Society

As a family sized box of frosted crisps breakfast cereal, I've discovered I only have one purpose. In the mornings, usually always mornings, I'm pulled from my dusty little corner on that spot above the fridge, and my contents hailed into bowls. That's when I felt my best, sitting at that table as if I was of the family while the children munched whole-heartedly on my insides. They were young little things, those kids; they were at that age where everything is no longer important once it's stopped directly affecting them. So after I was thrust away back into my corner and as soon as the children had reached the front door, wrestling tiny arms into their backpacks, I'd already been forgotten. It was as if I had never done anything for them at all—let alone feed them, a necessity that should never be forgotten!
Still, they forgot, and only recalled me the following morning when their stomachs ached enough that they should remember me. It was enough that I didn't care about being so easily forgotten, since they'd always come clamoring back, excited for their first meal of the day.
It became that I enjoyed my life overall, if not because those children always returned. They'd sometimes even read my backside, and admire my frontside which was (in my opinion) pleasantly decorated with an enlarged photo of a bowl, and in it my cereal flakes. There was a few times their mother even picked me up to my side to look over my nutrition information. I knew I was very healthy!
Healthy for the children, sure. But healthy for a box of cereal? No! In my happiness I had failed to see my own health deteriorating—I had given too much to those children, and now my box was becoming empty!
More than the fear of death, I was fearing the feeling of being unwanted. I didn't want to be tossed aside because I was no good, replaced by a box only a little bit sturdier than mine! Why was I so easily replaceable? Just like every box out there, I wanted to be worthwhile! Dare I say renown for centuries to come? No matter how hard I fought, the clock continued to tick, and my life continued to dwindle to its last flake. And so I breathed my last breath looking on to children who would remember me for an inkling as that morsel that calmed their hungry stomachs. I am a box, and just as you I'm looking onto that moment I was most useful to the world, and just like you, it was only for a moment.

Ahaha.

It's hard not to appreciate stories narrated from the perspective of inanimate objects, and I think you've done a respectable job here. For its length, your story of an aging cereal box conveys a decently strong theme: that everything exists for but a few glimmering moments before passing from memory and existence.

There's that facetious aspect of the whole ordeal, which is, naturally, augmented by the simple unexpectedness of such an object as a cereal box. That is interesting; if it doesn't make your story any better than, say, one from the perspective of a rock, it certainly will attract more curious readers.

Critiques! As far as fluency, this wasn't the best. You do far too much telling, far to little showing; in other words, this is lacking in description. You need to elucidate on the box's emotions! You say "I am forgotten," but what, exactly, does that mean? Don't rely on these vague, stereotypical words to hold up your literary atmosphere. Thicken them, strengthen them! What does it feel like to be forgotten? Show me!

Then you have that odd incongruity where you're grieving over how the children forget about you and then suddenly perk up and go

It became that I enjoyed my life overall

and, yeah, that's a little weird.

You ramble considerably in the final paragraph. It's hard to tell, looking at that last meandering exposition, whether you're sad or joking or what. Aim straight for that feeling of remorse; take no side-tracks, no comical epicycles. Trigger the reader's emotion. Go out with a bang. All that.

All in all, I liked this. Its sheer originality, if anything, made it a very enjoyable read. Thanks.

Hope this helped.

-Kafka

Haha,
I have to admit, I LOVE THIS!
I have never thought about it - ever. I have tried to wright the life of a chair and failed miserably, but something as interesting as a cereal box was never even considered in my head. Now I see, I should have written about cereal boxes and not something as mundane as a chair!
Though at the end, the last paragraph is a bit rushed, slow down! A piece that has so much potential as this one does, talk more about what will definitely happen, than just using rhetorical questions. Use more description of the awesome cereal boxes life, make sure that you yourself are fully aware of everything that it going on in the - head? - of the cereal box, I'm not sure if this is with everyone, but my characters become as lifelike to me as anyone. Go more into depth of why the cereal box loves the children and talk more about the fear of death, death should not be taken nicely by such an adventurous cereal box- an upcoming escape attempt may be funny to witness!
Overall Brilliant Ideas!
Keep writing,
Evenslily
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