Creative Writing: The Cow Machine

I was stuffed in the bottom of a claw machine that was sitting in an entryway of a local diner one cold, January day. It was a snow day in the city, so the restaurant did not have its typical fast paced swing. Not expecting any patrons, the owner decided to close up the diner for the afternoon. Just as he was about to take in the flag, a red, beaten up van drove into the driveway. A mother and son got out of the van and started to walk to the diner. Without a second thought, the owner let them in and they all enjoyed a nice lunch together. After the young boy was finished with his grilled cheese sandwich and a fresh pickle, he politely, yet eagerly asked his mother if he could play the claw machine. The mother, with an embarrassed and sad face, told the young boy no because she simply had no more money with her.

The owner of the diner motioned to the boy to have him come over to his side of the table. He dug around in the pocket of his worn out blue jeans and gave the boy a shiny quarter. With a huge grin and excitement, the boy ran over to the claw machine.

He noticed that I was small and round enough to fit in the palm of his young hands. He saw my vivid colors of orange with black lines. He smelled me and noticed that I smelled like rubber. I was soft and squishy. I was new and I was sent this boy for a purpose.

Many years have passed since that cold, January day. I have been though hell and back with that young boy. We have moved from State to State, gone to school after school, but I still managed to put a smile on his face. The young boy, who isn 't so young anymore, is now a professional basketball player. He never had an interest in the game until I came along. Still, though, I go to every game he goes to. I sit in the bottom of his stinky basketball bag, surrounded by gym shoes and empty water bottles. It’s my home and it’s the best home I 've ever known. I am a lucky, cheaply made,