Hey, writer-type folks. Every Friday we do a fun free write. Basically, you can write whatever you want in the comments section. You have THREE minutes. Have fun. The more people who play, the more fun it is. So tell a friend. If you have one. If not, tell your enemies.
You open your eyes and everything is different. Don't move...you don't know what you've gotten yourself into. The sliding world brings familiar things to you. Your smell is acute. You smell carne asada cooking somewhere. You think about your life and question its legitimacy.
You stand up and get up and what else are you going to do? But the toothpaste isn't where it usually is and, when you find it, you realize it tastes salty, gritty. It does not taste like peppermint.
You stand and lean against the wall, trying to make sense of it. There is a distinct taste of copper in your mouth.
You want a drink, but you don't know why. You want a shield, a barrier, something to protect you from the newness of the world. You need to relearn everything. Now seems like a pretty good time to start. Or stop as the case may be.
You take the pills that are put in the little boxes. You never forget. They have told you that the pills will fix things. Set them right. You're not sure what you believe, but what do you have to lose?
Unlike the suited moguls who gave him his marching orders, Charlie didn’t like to be high up in the clouds, looking down on the ant-like people who skulked about on their ant-hills with matching coffee cups and grumpy Monday morning faces. No, he liked to be down. He lived on the second floor. Just one step up from easy pickings of criminals or the view of a dog lifting his leg on his window box, but low enough to see, to be in among, the throng. People walking by fascinated him; the music of their strides, the bounce of hair, the toss of shoulders. The snatches of conversation that lifted to his window like radio static, that, too, was the backdrop to his life, when he’d open the terrace doors and let the city in, breathe it, embrace it, let it flow. Part of it, it was part of him and he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Why would he, when the whole world was here?ReplyDelete
Brilliant. Now I want to move back to the city. Thanks for playing, G.Delete
Guess it's toast for dinner. Only one thing left in the cupboard. Day old bread. Sums up my life quite neatly I think. Never first to be chosen, a bit stale, still useable but probably best if mixed in with others so isn’t forced to be the star of the show.ReplyDelete
I’m waiting on phone calls today from Mackenzie and Robert. Mackenzie calls me whenever he needs rent or on Christmas, whichever happens first. This year he’s been working so it’ll be a Christmas call. Many years ago, I gave up on the idea of receiving a mushy card from my son. He isn’t the sentimental type and I’ve never been the kind of mum to force my kid into pretending to be someone he isn't.
As for Robert, he’s a good man. He turned out better than could ever have been expected when we were growing up. He’d say it was I who became easier to deal with as his sister, but he’d smile as he said it. He knows the truth. He knows my truth too. And he still calls me on Christmas.
That's awesome. There are a few stories in there.Delete
Frozen ponies as far as I can see. Stretching ahead and to left. Curving around. Others chase me.ReplyDelete
I never did like carousels.
You can't trust em. Always revolving. Never evolving.Delete