The life of a golf ball
From the perspective of a golf ball
I am a golf ball. I am little. I am white. I am shiny. I am hard. I am covered with dimples. I used to have a very good life in a box with my brother and my sister. That did not last.
One day we were taken out of our little box and put in a bag. My brother disappeared. I never saw him again. I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye. The next day, a hand came into the bag and plucked me out. I was placed upon a small piece of wood. I heard a whirring sound.
Then? Ouch. I was struck. The next thing I knew I was soaring through the air. It was glorious. I landed with a soft plop. I bounced and rolled, finally coming to rest on some moist green grass.
After a short period of time, I heard the sound, felt the pain and was sent soaring again. This time I landed smack dab onto shorter grass. Next, I was gently struck, and I rolled, dropped quickly and fell into a hole. There I made a satisfying clunking noise. Time after time I heard the noise, felt the pain and went flying through the air. Sometimes between my adventures I was rubbed, scrubbed and given a bath.
One fateful day the hand was sweaty. Despite my tough skin, I could detect irritation. I was yelled at a lot. “Get in. Get in the hole, go, go, get!”
I am a difficult golf ball. I do not do what I’m told. How can I? I’m a golf ball. I’m not very good at listening once dispatched.
That day? I wouldn’t ‘break’. I wouldn’t ‘bend’. I wouldn’t ‘get in that hole’.
Moments later, I was on a piece of wood again. I heard the familiar sound. I felt the familiar pain and went soaring. This did not go well. A branch from a nasty tree reached out and arrested my flight. It knocked me into the forest. I bounced wildly off a couple of rocks and settled in a pile of leaves.
The person who sent me soaring came looking for me. He didn't look long. He didn't want to spend that much time searching for me. He stomped around a bit in the woods. He was a mere five feet away from me. I wish I could have shouted out to him. But, I’m a golf ball. I don’t have a voice.
The man? He didn't want to be left behind. He didn't want to inconvenience others. As much as I loved soaring through the air, and being scrubbed. I realized then that I wasn't worth all that much to him.
So here I sit in a forest alone and abandoned. I wish I was with my brother and my sister. I wonder where they are and wonder if they're lonely too. I wish I could soar again. But apparently, my ability to fly was a short-lived gift.