The exercise:
Write about: roots.
In a bit of a rush to write this up and get it scheduled for tonight, so I'll be replying to yesterday's comments tomorrow.
Somehow that sentence actually made sense...
Mine:
This town doesn't ever seem to change, does it? Sure, the people die off to be replaced by newborns, and the odd shop closes down now and then, but the heartbeat remains the same. Steady and true.
The trees may inch higher as the years slip past, cracks might force their way into the roads and sidewalks, but the feeling of community is unending. These are good people here. That's why the kids always come back after they've been off to see the world and what is has to offer them.
They know this is where they belong. They've always known, but they had to make sure I guess. You can always count on the rest of this planet confirming it for them.
7 comments:
I may be missing for a little while; my internet is in the process of being switched over to a new provider, which apparantly takes far longer than you'd expect, so I have no home internet right now. I'm also going to be in Barcelona from Thursday to Wednesday inclusive, and have no idea how much internet access I'll have while out there. So... I may be gone some time :)
That's a lovely start to an editorial piece, Marc. It feels like you're going to carry on and champion the sense of community that holds people and small towns together and stands firm against the outside world.
Roots
"We have a new problem," said Dr. Septopus, his chest heaving and his breath coming in short gasps. His face was an odd shade of puce, and his eyes protruded far further than normal, even for a half-squid.
"Yes," said Sylvestra, tidying her papers away. "The Kalahari Kalamari has announced that he's intending to quest to rid the world of evil-doers. It's clearly a publicity stunt, but he might cause us some trouble for a while."
"Not that," wheezed Doctor Septopus. His beak clacked while he thought about what she'd said. "Though that is definitely a problem, and needs to be addressed. No, our other problem is that the Green Lightbulb clones have stopped hovering and starting putting down roots. I'm worried that they've found another way to reproduce."
Roots
She said to me once, “Maybe you’ll find your niche, now...” as I moved districts yet again, and let it hang in the air, more as an expectation, perhaps hinting at the slight disapproval that one who never moves has for one who moves a lot.
I, for once, tended to agree.
But this wasn’t to be the niche I’d longed for these past decades, no.
The social climbers, the conservatives, those who mentally lived in the 1950s and spoke of the good ol’ days and thought these iPad thingies were the work of Satan, all of the above - they were not my niche. Such a disappointment. I had no time for such thinking, such folk.
When I went back to visit - breaking my own rule (never go back) - I realised where my niche was.
“Welcome back!” they said.
“Come for dinner!”
“We missed you, you know.”
These were the welcome gifts I received as I visited my ol’ haunt.
’Ah!’ I thought, ’So that’s how it feels. These are now my roots.’
I knew, then, that my decision to move back was right. I came back and packed up here. Syonara, you lot.
I’m going home.
So many different roots, we have. Of coruse my imediate though was for Kunta Kinte (probably not at all spelled right). We watched Roots in 7th or 8th grade - the two years are blended in my head as I speant it with the same kids and teacher in the same school. :}
But I decided to go with something a bit more literal. :}
Roots
The gnarled old oak stood proud in the prairie grass, like a King surrounded by gold. It’s roots sank deep into the earth, drinking from water buried deep. Though it held fast to life, life was changing.
No longer did the shaggy buffalo rest in its shade.
No longer did the people climb its branched to look for the herd.
Now the wind played with more than just its branches.
Now the wind played with the men swing from his boughs. Two outlaws from the town that had sprouted nearby. Two men swinging from the hangman’s noose, ready to be cut down and buried in the graveyard nearby.
Yes, the strong oak tree stood proud, but inside its sap wept at the loss of the old life as the water slowly receded from it's roots.
CL...nice take
Writebite - Thanks. It's always fun to try and be different befroe I read what everyone else has written. Sometimes it's easier than others. :}
In the back yard of the Hillbilly Manor Daisy Mae and Ellie Sue sat in plastic lawn chairs sipping long island ice tea directly from the can.
"Well howdy there Ellen". Daisy Mae shouted when she saw the large red sun hat of her neighbor float along the top of the hedges.
Ellen Delany-Prince stopped. Peering over the hedges, she removed her large sun glasses and twirled them in her dainty fingers.
Ellen sighed. "Hello Daisy Mae."
"It sure is a hot one, do ya wanna come swimming in the pond?"
Ellen wriggled up her nose.
"That's quite alright. I have an appointment with Jaques Hamilton, stylist of the stars!"
Ellen turned on her heel and was about to stride back to her house when a gust of wind blew her hat off of her head.
"Ellen honey", started Ellie Sue,"You best go get you another hat, cause your roots is showing."
Ellen blushed a bright pink.
"Mine aren't the only ones!" Ellen shot back as she briskly walked up the front stairs and through the front door, slamming it behind her.
Greg - safe travels, and I hope we hear from you at some point while you're away!
Sounds like they've got a serious Green Lightbulb infestation on their hands. Heaven help the poor bastards.
Writebite - wonderfully expressed. Best of luck with the return journey :)
Cathryn - I'm with Writebite, that's an excellent take on the prompt. A particularly strong final paragraph.
Krystin - haha, love that opening paragraph, it really sets the scene.
Some fun characters to play with there, and a neat twist on the prompt. Great stuff :)
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