Week 11 Theme 3

An actual or mythical creature.

Stare into its eyes and you will see all of man’s creation, the fires that warm the lonely and the water to calm the passions. Stare into its eyes and you will see the sorrows and regrets of civilizations gone, and the petulant monuments to all of their sins. Stare into its eyes and you will see inspirations of geniuses past, and those yet to be found.

Stare if you can, into that malleable wraith that cloaks itself with the terrible truth, the innermost thoughts and fears manifest in the air for one to see one thing and another to see another. Watch its grace and beauty idolized by bards past, and its mutations and contortions inspiring poets today. Watch as it confronts its people with their dreams, forces them to face hidden fears.

But stare into its eyes, and you will not find the future, the sparkling, uncertain future, for the wraith is found only in the present as a monument to the past. It repeats. Recites. Retells. It watches, not knowing what it sees, for the wraith does not see, it reflects. And those who look into that fearsome, ethereal face will see their own scowling back at them.

Week 11 Theme 2

Retelling of a fable.

A fallen log sat up high where one finds mountain goats. Windswept and chilled, it became a slippery shortcut for a long path down and back up to the other side. Today, two goats were headed to opposite sides, and only that log stood in the middle.

One goat stepped onto the log. Then the other did. The wind blew and their hairs followed, but the goats stood in place. One stepped, then the other did, then the first, then again the other. And now they had a problem: goats don’t walk backwards. With nothing to lose and the greener grass on the other side to gain, the first goat stepped. The second stood in place, his mind not decided. So he stood as the other goat stepped, barely keeping his grip on the slippery log underneath.

They paused again a couple feet away from each other. The moment of truth. They turned their heads and stared as well as animals with herbivore eye placements could, eye to eye, singular. Then our decisive goat charged. And our other goat thought “what the hell?” and lunged. They locked horns, and they thrashed, and they both slipped on the wind-polished log, falling off, one into the rapids below, and another to the side of the log, shaken, and wiser.

Week 11 Theme 1

A dream

Kat had a superpower that made her afraid to sleep. Whenever she dreamt, she could not feel pain. And because she could not feel pain, her mind took it as license to imagine morbid things. Thus were her dreams: painful scenes without the pain, nightmares with fear but no adrenaline, surreal, disturbed pictures she would gladly forget over her morning cereal.

Kat was in a plane. It was crashing into the Atlantic, flinging her into the seat in front. Kat bounced, skipped into the water and sank, feeling the cold water in her lungs but not the paralyzing fear. She watched fishes swim by as she sank deeper and her diaphragm spasmed with the numb twitches of a jittery muscle. Constant, small jerks that moved her ribs. And her eyes sank into the black.

Kat was sitting at a fire, hands cold, too cold. So she pushed them into the fire, feeling the gentle warmth and pleasant tingling. She watched as her skin blistered and shriveled, as her bones turned black from the soot rising from below. That was how her hands were supposed to be – not too cold, not too hot.

Kat was sitting at the ledge of the Grand Canyon. She wanted a photo, something to remember the exhilaration. But the wind was blowing, and as she stood up, she fluttered into the air over the Colorado River below. And she fell. She hit a rock, a surprising bump. And then another. And another. And she looked at the red lines forming on her limbs, wondering why the blood blossomed like her mother’s rhododendrons. And she thought to herself: aren’t rhododendrons pretty?

Week 10 Theme 5

Need to take my fourth of four nights off - I can't find the time tonight to write a proper theme.

Week 10 Theme 4

About a risk taken.

A brief conversation with my internal conversationalist:

“We’ve gone through this before. Risks. All that jazz.”

“Yeah, we have. But now I have to write about it. And I didn’t take any.”

“No, you can think of risks. You’re just setting the bar high, because you know how small ones don’t make good stories. They’re boring. Mundane. Nobody wants to hear about them. Or they actually just want to tell you about their stories while you listen.”

“Exactly. So I need something big.”

“What about your relationship stories? How they began?”

“I pretty much knew they would begin. I just didn’t know how.”

“Choosing colleges?”

“Didn’t know what would happen, but I couldn’t go wrong.”

“Startup idea?”

“Knew it probably wouldn’t work. Signed up anyway. Had nothing to lose. Lost nothing.”

“Your jobs?”

“Nope, that was a tiny risk. Paid off big though.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’ve never taken a risk?”

“I guess I haven’t really. I’ve pretty much always known that it’d turn out fine. Never risked losing anything. Nothing big, anyway.”

“So you’ve never done anything without knowing the ending?”

“Of course I have. It’s just that uncertainty isn’t danger. You can know it’ll end fine without knowing how it ends. It’s like learning to dive. You know you’ll be fine even if you bellyflop.”

“Or like learning to juggle fire?”

“Yeah. You know it’s not dangerous, and you know it’s fun, so it’s not like you actually stood to lose anything.”

“Did you ever stand to lose anything?”

“Frankly? No.”

Week 10 Theme 3

A theme around the words “I remember.”

I remember when you conceived me in a moment of unity, inspiration, irony. I remember how proud you were to show me to the world, your baby for all to see and for all to describe, however, imperfectly, to their friends. I remember the confusion in people’s eyes at the monster before them, now grown from a cute baby to a terrible two. I remember being the butt of every April Fools joke. I remember being brought to basketball games. I remember being hidden during your conversations with other people, only to be brought out, always at the least opportune moment. I remember playing peekaboo, so many times, always when they expected someone else.

But I am not your baby, because you did not conceive me like you think you did. I remember an earnest effort, a time when I was appreciated at face value. I remember when there were many others like me, when we were the hits on the dance floor, when we were the companions everyone wanted to bring along on trips. I remember finally retiring as the younger generation took our place in your minds and hearts.

I remember when you resurrected me, disturbed me from my resting place telling me that you had great plans. I remember what you said: that I am the wrong man in the wrong place at the wrong time to make all the difference in a jaded world needing a hero. Then you found a younger, prettier one, leaving me once again spent, old, forgotten. But I won’t forget. I will never give you up. I will never let you go. I will never run around, and I will never desert you. Never.

Week 10 Theme 2

A short theme with no A's and no E's. Difficulty: that also means no articles of speech.

“Polish our floor.” Bob didn’t know why. Truly, Bob didn’t know how. But mom told Bob to do his work, so Bob took his tools, found his floor, and dug in. Two hours in, Bob put his mop down. If only mom could know how much work polishing wood floors took. If only Bob could look busy with his schoolwork, mom would stop with this stupid floor stuff. It didn’t look dusty. It didn’t look dull. It didn’t look sooty. It truly didn’t look worth mom’s worry, nor Bob’s monotonous hours, so why? Obviously, for odd jobs to do in Bob’s now copious time. Bob would go on his trip soon. Soon. But not now, so Bob took his polishing tool and did his work.