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anthropomor_fic: orange/purple/silver
Yes, this is anthropomorphized linguistic vague-erotica-ish. It came to me in a dream. My dreams aren't like normal peoples'. Yes, I know, I should be working on something else. Isn't it always the way?
They were the unpairables; relegated to trivia competitions and free verse, occasionally passed off on half-hearted slant-rhymes that had given up trying. Doomed by accidental arrangement of syllables and phomes to be picked last on the playground of poetry, they naturally fell together for solace - everyone said misery loves company, but the cold fact of the matter was even misery didn't want anything to do with them.
One of them - maybe it was orange, it scarcely mattered in the end, but orange was usually responsible for the bright ideas - decided that perhaps a little wordplay was the ticket - seeking out lonely confused 'y's at Alphabet Soup, that new bar across town. Rumor was that they'd apparently join with anyone - consonant or vowel. But it was awkward, forced - at least for purple and orange. Silver seemed to enjoy his new status as an adverb, but tagged along with his friends after he realized that the same words that danced beside him in sentences were not so very long ago mocking his unattatched status. But the teasing allure of the club, the memory of being sandwiched deep inside a dependent clause; he couldn't give that up for long.
Purple's solution was absurdly simple, in the end. He found it in the newspaper.
Love, companionship, sex, adoration, devotion, marriage - there they were, all in the crossword puzzle, ready and waiting for new words to tag on and criss-cross in its orderly pattern of black and white squares.
They were the unpairables; relegated to trivia competitions and free verse, occasionally passed off on half-hearted slant-rhymes that had given up trying. Doomed by accidental arrangement of syllables and phomes to be picked last on the playground of poetry, they naturally fell together for solace - everyone said misery loves company, but the cold fact of the matter was even misery didn't want anything to do with them.
One of them - maybe it was orange, it scarcely mattered in the end, but orange was usually responsible for the bright ideas - decided that perhaps a little wordplay was the ticket - seeking out lonely confused 'y's at Alphabet Soup, that new bar across town. Rumor was that they'd apparently join with anyone - consonant or vowel. But it was awkward, forced - at least for purple and orange. Silver seemed to enjoy his new status as an adverb, but tagged along with his friends after he realized that the same words that danced beside him in sentences were not so very long ago mocking his unattatched status. But the teasing allure of the club, the memory of being sandwiched deep inside a dependent clause; he couldn't give that up for long.
Purple's solution was absurdly simple, in the end. He found it in the newspaper.
Love, companionship, sex, adoration, devotion, marriage - there they were, all in the crossword puzzle, ready and waiting for new words to tag on and criss-cross in its orderly pattern of black and white squares.