Set a timer for five minutess. Immediately start writing a story about an article of clothing that is really about something else. Don’t stop until the time is up.

Its just a piece of cardboard really. Its a piece of cardboard and its wrapped in like the shittiest synthetic fabric there is. Rayon? Raydon? Is that a thing? Something like that though. Its plastic-y.  Its a bizarre square hat that doesn’t flatter the shape of anybody’s head, and its got a bit of string hanging off it made from the same damn plastic fabric as the rest. And its itchy. And it musses your hair. And it makes your hairline sweat a little bit, you in your big plastic wizard’s robes, like a kid in a cheap halloween costume. You in this huge room full of people, some chattering excitedly, some fidgeting nervously, some sobbing emotionally, some just zoning out and waiting for it to be over. And the stupid thing keeps slipping, somehow. Your beautiful plastic hat is stuck on your head, not by a pleasantly soft fitted lining, but by an elastic headband. Your fancy hat of achievement is held on your head the same way a lunch lady keeps her hairnet up.
(Man that went REALLY quick!)

You were close to me most of my high school years, we went everywhere together.  You were like many other jean jackets, but like most things that are worn over and over again, you began to fit me better, hug me, comfort me and keep me warm.
One day I went away to school, and left you at home, alone.  We were apart for a long time. Then one day I returned, and found you there, waiting for me like a long lost friend.  I slipped you on, and you still fit me better than anything else, hugged me and comforted me.

The purple pair of jeans in my closet were my favorite pair of jeans ever. They were my saving grace. Whenever I was afraid I would wear them. They instantly made me feel braver and ready to conquer anything. Those jeans were might and powerful and full of unimaginable abilities. One day as I walking to the back of my closet I stumbled upon those purple jeans and found them glowing and moving on their own. I hadn’t worn them in months. I out grew them and so they laid in my closet untouched. Or so I thought. They were able to move and be free. They had a mind of their own and weren’t afraid of showing it. The jeans could walk and dance and even fly. But only for short distances. They were the coolest pair of pants ever. They fought crime on their own. Jumped cliffs. They were the most amazing pair of pants and I always knew they were more powerful than anyone else ever thought.

The Ladybug Robe

Once upon a time, I had a long ladybug robe that my mother made for me. During the long, cold winter months, I and my sisters all wore thick white shawls, but now, in mild February and early March, the ladybug robe was just right.
Every morning, I got out of bed at dawn, put my arms in the sleeves, tied the sash and opened the sliding door onto the deck. As the first fingers of light reached the shadowy garden, I walked through it drinking my revitalizing tea, my ladybug robe flaring out behind me. The edges of the robe brushed the raised beds. My bare feet got wet with dew.
But one night in mid-March, a big storm blew in. All night I could hear the gunshot crack of trees breaking and falling in the high wind. In the morning, I looked out and the garden had been destroyed. Whole trees crossed over each other, creating an impenetrable bramble barrier. It would be a long time before I’d walk the garden at

dawn again. I put my robe aside and alongside my husband, fell to the work of restoring the garden.
When the trees were bucked up and finally all removed, light came into the garden where it hadn’t before. Because of that, the gardener, my husband, could plant more sun lovers, such as roses and kale. He also built a beautiful outdoor pavilion perfect for summer parties in the restored garden.
The days lengthened and warmed, and I no longer wore my fleece ladybug robe. In the mornings, I got up and put on a lightweight gauze robe of palest green and walked out into the new garden at dawn, the edges billowing and flaring behind me, brushing the heavy petals of the peonies, startling the roses to bloom.

With this piece of clothing called a cape how will the world be saved? Superman wears this like an accessory but what is it really? A calling to a greater good. Not only is it especially red and gorgeous but it helps with the flying skills. Superman looks to his cape and realizes how stunning he looks. What if one did not own a cape? How will he then save the world? Superman is one of a kind, including the red cape. This cape flows with the wind and stands for justice for all. How shapely the cape gets while flying in the air. Perhaps the cape will rip while fighting to save the world? This cape is not just glowing beauty on Superman but it does not rip. The cape stays in the form of which Superman keeps wearing it. As one looks to the red glowing cape one thinks of how safe they feel. Superman keeps the planet called Earth safe while the red cape he wears keeps him looking great.