Prompt: Write a short story or poem (300 words or less) from the point of view of an inanimate object.
My name? I don't really have one.
Just call me D.
I'm an average Letter. I'm quite overworked, unlike that slacker Q, but not nearly as worked as, say, the Vowels. A, E, I, O, and U are always busy, it seems. They're practically a legend at the Word Factory.
Most days are quite repetitive here at the Word Factory, though the excitement level is always pretty high. In between jobs, the Letters - usually R, T, and F, since they're my closest friends - and I discuss what jobs we'd like to have next. Often, I'm called for boring jobs, like the Word "and" or "had" or "day". Of course, "dad" pops up a lot; but I've always liked that Word since it gives me a chance to show up that egocentric A.
I remember once, I was called for a peculiar job: the Word "congratulations". Except, it wasn't spelled correctly; it was spelled "congradulations". You can imagine the laughs that all of us Letters had when we came back from that one.
T felt left out, though. He spent the rest of the day wallowing in a corner, missing all his jobs, and upsetting quite a lot of people who, intent on saying "I like this better" ended up with "I like his beer".
Oh, the misunderstandings that ensued. I'd say it was funny if it weren't for the fact that boss yelled at me to go cheer him up before the Russian Word Factory discovered our weakness and made an attack.
A verbal attack, that is. Because we're just Words. We're not physically alive. We can't fight.
But we can spell "fight."