Sunday March 20th, 2016

The exercise:

Write about: wishful thinking.

I finally got around to commencing my latest comment catch up this evening. Which was when I realized that my most recent reply was not, in fact, at the end of February. It was more like mid-February.

So, basically, it's even worse than I thought it was.

But now, at least, it's a little tiny bit better.

And maybe now I have momentum on my side?



He's standing at the well, watching his last coins sinking. There's no one else to see - all his buddies are out drinking. While their glasses are clinking and cigarettes are stinking, he's trying to find peace with his wishful thinking.

He didn't ask for happiness, wealth, or fame. He has no wish for a new life or name. No heart to tame, no enemy to maim. Just the banishment of a long held, secret shame.

The coins hit bottom and suddenly he sees the road ahead. It does not fill him with dread. A weight has been shed. A calmness surrounds him now that all hope has fled. He could share his truth with the world... but he jumps into the well instead.


morganna said...

Rain pours down in buckets
Across the city
It surely will be stopping
Now -- or soon? Won't it?
Yesterday it rained and
During the night, too -- the wedding
And reception are in two hours.
Yes, surely it will be stopping.

Greg said...

@Morganna: Nice acrostic! And I really like the wishful thinking that's going on in there: definitely the triumph of hope over experience :)

@Marc: well done on catching up with the comments, I hope they were interesting enough that you felt it was worthwhile :)
I always like your prose-poetry when you write it, and this is no exception. The first verse is, for me, the best, with it's more involved rhymes and the set-up for the rest of the piece, but that doesn't detract from the whole. The final line was unexpected too, which was really nice as I thought I knew where the piece was going, and it made me smile.

Wishful thinking
The rain was rattling the tin gutters and they were making a strumming sound that reminded Ma Claisse of when her husband, dead these past thirty years, used to sit on the back porch and play with his electric guitar. He'd bought it at a garage sale; the neighbours three doors down had had it set out front on a shiny little stand and a small black amplifier set behind it. Pa Claisse hadn't wanted the amplifier though; he'd insisted that he only wanted the gee-tar and that he wasn't paying extra for a fancy box that he couldn't even store the gee-tar in. Ma's smile at the memory dimmed a little here; sometimes that man had been so stupid she'd wanted to box his ears and send him home with his tail between his legs for making her look stupid for being with him. He'd taken the guitar home and then he'd sit out back, plucking the strings with no idea what they were called or how to string the notes together and he'd talk of how he was going to be discovered one day by a producer and taken away to the big city to make unique music.
Wishful thinking, she'd called it then.
The neighbours house burned down and them with it and Pa Claisse went over to the ruins like a cat to a corpse and prowled around, looking to see if that funny black box had survived the fire. Of course it hadn't, but the police had paid attention like they did, thinking that maybe Pa Claisse had set the fire and come over to see about his handiwork. Ma could have told them then that Pa was mighty scared of fire and even had to sit in the other room with the door open when she lit the tiny fire in the stove in Winter; he'd rather shiver from a safe distance than risk being too close to it. But she was busy with the baby, little Delilah, and the police got bored and took Pa away.
And somehow between here and there he got all tangled up and fell out of their police car going too fast and ended up dead at the corner of 4th and Main.
Ma sighed. It wasn't all bad though, Delilah had grown up and taken a liking to that guitar and was now playing Country music on a state-wide tour. So maybe some of that wishful thinking had wished enough and made something happen.

Marc said...

Morganna - another very good acrostic from you. I think your take on the prompt was especially clever because of the acrostic you chose too. Well done!

Greg - your comments are always interesting and worthwhile. Which just makes it more of a shame it's taking me so long to get fully caught up again. But I'm working on it! Again.

That is quite the tale to emerge from this prompt. I am very impressed. I like this Ma and Pa, and it's a shame that Pa has already passed on, and in such unfortunate circumstances. Really enjoyed reading this one :)