The exercise:
Write something that in some way or another relates to dreaming.
We basically finished the cold frame today - just need a couple more handles and some latches and we're done. Afterward Kat's dad gave me a quick lesson on how to prune plum trees so that I can work on that this week while he's working.
It must be the first day of spring or something.
Mine:
I pace within my cage, my teeth bared and both hands balled into fists. Fingernails bite into my fleshy palms, causing blood to squeeze between fingers and free fall to the dirt floor. I am silent, my cracked lips pressed firmly together, though my throat still burns from my last outburst.
The guards are just out of sight; I can hear them playing cards down the hall to my right. Their cheap cigarettes are poisoning my air while their various alcohols are making me thirsty. But I will be patient. Just a little while longer, that's all.
The minutes pass like ghosts in the night - unseen, unheard, like they were never here. I can hear the guards growing steadily drunker, their words increasingly aggressive, their laughter loud and abrasive. Any moment now.
"Hey... hey!" I recognize Hector's voice rising above the others. "Whaddya say we go pay Mariano a visit? Teach him a lesson for making such a fuss about his dinner, hey?"
The others agree, of course. I smile and retreat to the shadows. I have been dreaming of this moment for weeks. Dropping to a crouch, I paw the dirt until I find the sliver of glass I had left there. I know my chances are somewhere between slim and non-existent, but that doesn't matter. I will take at least one of them with me.
4 comments:
You're pruning plum trees this week? That sounds like a relatively easy task -- get back to the weeding!
There's some very intense imagery in your piece today, it's really easy to slip into the scene and empathize with the narrator! One small point: in the penultimate paragraph, third sentence, would it make more sense if the sliver of glass had been 'hidden' rather than 'left'?
Dreaming
He called himself the Dreambreaker,
And he walked in people's minds.
He called himself a Dreamthief,
And sold his many finds.
So many lives were ruined,
By his dreaming every night.
So many people injured,
By his fearsome dreaming might.
But in this world he's nothing,
A fragile man, and thin.
And when the dreamers find him,
I'd not be in his skin.
Dreaming
That night changed it
All -- she had never been
The same -- never could be -- that girl
Was gone -- lost in someone else's anger
But maybe a new innocence
Could be found -- forged in love
And forgiveness
Dreaming
Greg - yar, I think I got distracted when I was writing that line. I originally had hidden, then got it in my head to change it. Couldn't tell ya why.
Really like your poem and the way you tie things up so nicely at the end. I think you've got another interesting character on your hands there.
Morganna - very nicely done, I particularly like the second half of your poem.
Three Dreams
Prrr Prrr, the phone rings.
"It’s Mum," she says. “She’s in the hospital.”
“Okay, I’ll come over.”
Mum is sicker than she’s ever been. This could mean...
Prrr Prrr, the phone rings.
“It’s Mum,” she says. “She’s in the hospital.”
'One week’, a voice murmured.
Prrr Prrr, the phone rings.
“It’s Mum,” she says. “She’s gone!”
A week had passed by. These three dreams rang true.
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