http://www.creativitygames.net has a random word generator.

I have 6 words to incorporate into a short story.

t-shirt…fleet…bench…judge…giraffe…certificate

Here is my story:

The worn out toy giraffe was losing stuffing at an alarming rate. Many of its seams had loosened from the wonder years of generous hugs. The local pigeons wasted no time in poking their beaks into the holes and extracting mouthfuls of fluff. Not being alive made moving out of the question for toys. So he sat silently on that park bench…resigned to the indignity of growing old and being forgotten.

Giraffe had once had a certificate of ownership, a purple t-shirt and a little straw hat.  Oh, in the beginning, he was a brilliant orange with embroidered brown patches. Now, his orange was all worn away and the brown patches faded. To the unfamiliar eyes of strangers, he resembled a dis-proportioned cheetah with the mange.

Toy giraffes very often “lose their heads” through the years. Their necks would flop over, unable to support their button-eyed cranium, then finally give up. Decapitation usually brought on the trash bag of nevermore,  even in the clingiest child’s toy box.

Giraffe had had a good stretch. He had been handed down from grandmother to great-grandson. Never was he called by any name but My Giraffe. It had a really good sound, though.

Giraffe had never sailed on the pond before. He captained the toy boat and its fleet yesterday. Sailing was a new activity since he was not water repellent. Usually, he’d served as the pillow for his boy’s neck while riding in the car. His boy had finally invited him along to the park to play and here it would end. The garbage bag of eternity was on its way for sure. Daylight was breaking as the garbage truck roared in the distance.

“TA DA!”

An elderly woman held him out for another one to see.

“I had one of these fellas when I was a kid. Finders keepers.”

The wooosh of air brakes announced the arrival of the garbage collectors. The women sat with the giraffe between them as they fed the pigeons day old donuts. One of them tossed the wrapper toward the bin. The  garbageman grimaced as he bent to pick it up and tote it away.

“How ’bout you ladies hand me the rest of that trash.” Then, he pointed to the toy.

With that , the woman who had first claimed giraffe, held him tightly to her bosom.

” Apparently, you are unable to judge what “is” and “is not” trash my good man. This fellow here is My Giraffe .”