The exercise:
Today we shall write about: the slave.
Fairly quiet day in the garden here. Kat's teacher friend left for home just after lunch, and then we spent the rest of the day getting things ready for the book club meeting Kat hosted this evening. It sounds like it went well, and everyone enjoyed the berries, veggies, and fruit Kat put together for them.
Back to weeding tomorrow.
Mine:
Though he's been searching for it for weeks, he still can't find the chain that has tethered him to his desk. He knows it's there, he can feel its secure grip and its heavy weight, but still he cannot see it.
He is certain that if only he can lay eyes on it he'll be able to find a weak link, a way to break free. Surely, he tells himself for the hundredth time, there must be a way to escape.
He is certain that if only he can lay eyes on it he'll be able to find a weak link, a way to break free. Surely, he tells himself for the hundredth time, there must be a way to escape.
His supervisor drops in to see how the report is coming along and he responds without thinking. The conversation follows the same tired path as all the ones that came before. The deadline has been moved up again, but he'll find a way to be done in time. He always does.
Alone once again with his invisible chain, he allows himself a moment to daydream of freedom, of blue skies overhead and green grass beneath his feet.
6 comments:
I'm back! :) I already wrote a poem today that I think will serve to answer today's prompt, too: http://lizbethsgarden.wordpress.com/2011/08/30/dear-john/
The weeding never ends, does it? Is that what inspired today's prompt? And is today's piece a partial memory of your life as an office worker, perhaps? It's nicely done, very vivid.
The slave
"If it's not too much trouble." Her voice quavered, and her hands shook. Her eyes were milky white with cataracts, and she had trouble standing up from her chair, so much so that she infrequently did.
"Perhaps a little less sugar this time. Did you count the number of grains?"
Her daughter shuddered, repressing rage again. All she did was make tea for the old woman, walk the dog she couldn't look after for herself, make meals, change bedclothes sodden with incontinence... the list was unending.
"You were such a messy child, you know," said the old woman in a voice that was surely too lost in memories to be cruel. "I often wondered why we kept you."
The Slave....
I have to deal with it
Going into the pit.
I know I will die,
I just don't know why...
Morganna - welcome back!
And yes, I think that poem works for this prompt as well :)
Greg - well, we're getting to the point where the weeding doesn't matter quite so much anymore (at least that's what we're telling ourselves), so we're getting a bit lax with it.
And it's always a good idea to remind myself of what I left behind :)
I am intrigued by your two characters and the relationship between them. Here's hoping for more from them.
Papple - very nicely done!
i agree with Marc Papple! thats cool
Do it and don't ask why
I am her slave for LIFE
She is my sister but she tells me what to do
I am only 6 but she treats me horribly
I am her slave
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