Disclaimer- I own NOTHING!! except for the two poems. I wrote those.
A/N- Ok. This is a strange idea I get in English class when we did actually have to write as an inamiate object...for three days!!! By the third day, I was out of ideas, so I started thinking, "What if Dawn had to do this??" Well, as you can see, a ficlet came out of it.
Poetry Jam
Claire C. Griffon
"Spike! Help!" Dawn yelled as she ran into the Vampire's crypt.
Instantly, Spike was up from the basement, sword in hand. He looked around, and, not seeing anything amiss, asked warily, "What's wrong nibblet?"
"School." She replied.
Spike visibly relaxed and sheathed his sword. "What's up?"
"We started poetry in English today, and we have o write a poem."
"So?"
"I can't write poems!" Dawn exclaimed.
Spike sighed and sat down in his chair. Dawn walked over to the couch he had just moved in and sat down as well. "Bit, you've shown me some of the poems and the like in your diary. Don't give me that rot about you not being able to write."
"Well…yeah. But those were written when I was in the mood for writing, and not about a specific topic! We have to write about a specific topic!"
"What's the topic?"
"We have to write as though we were an inanimate object." Dawn explained.
Spike thought for a moment about what he would write about. Blood, probably, he thought. So, he proceeded to come up with a poem to tell Dawn. "Try this one. 'Warm or cold, Depending on how old. Life giving fluid, Was worshipped by some Druids. Now, I flow into another's mouth, As your life is snuffed out.' "
Dawn stared at him after he finished. "You made that up off the top of your head?" she asked him. At his nod, she continued. "I had no idea you were a poet."
"No, William was the poet, and tha was in the past. Spike is who I am now, and forever will be. William does still pop up sometimes, like now, though." Spike explained, smiling slightly.
"Still, it was amazing. Can you repeat it?"
"Why?"
"I missed the last line."
"You were copying it?" he exclaimed.
"Yeah. Think Ms. Shutton will like it?"
"You prat! You bloody well can't use my poem. That's plagerism and s'not allowed." Spike told her angerily.
"Then what am I supposed to do?"
"oh, I dunno. MAYBE WRITE YOUR OWN!!"
"How?"
"Pick a subject."
"Ummm... your chair."
"Right. Now, tell me about it."
"Well, uh, it's read and reclines. It looks old too. Oh, and there's a little black spot on it, and you sit in it when you watch Passions."
Spike held up his hand to stop her. "That's fine. Now, how would you turn that intoa poem?"
Dawn thought for a while before answering. " 'Old and red is what I am, In me sits one of the damned. When relaxation is what you seek, Come to me to put up your feet.' " Her face lit up. "I did it!! I didit!! I wrote a poem!!"
Her enthuasim was spreadable, so Spike couldn't help but smile too. "That's right, you did. Go tell big sis 'bout you accomplishment. NOT A WORD ABOUT MY POETRY THOUGH!!" he yelled after the retreating teenager.
So, whatcha think?? Please R&R.