The exercise:
Your word of the day is: imprisoned.
We are now officially ready to install the final level of the deck. The boards have been ordered and should arrive either tomorrow or Friday, and we're planning on putting them in on Sunday. Hopefully we'll managed to get it all done in one day.
It's been a long day and I am ready for bed.
Mine:
These walls are so cold against my bare skin. I want to shrink back from their touch but there's no room, they close in from all sides.
Won't someone free me? Have I not suffered enough? I do not claim innocence, but surely I am due to walk free beneath a cloudless sky, through fields of gently swaying wildflowers. To feel the sun warm my flesh.
Oh sweet, impossibly distant sun.
Time passes so slowly here. I would sleep to hurry it along, but I fear my dreams. I fear never waking again.
I fear waking to find my icy prison cell unchanged.
Imprisoned
ReplyDeleteMy soul stirred awake with a sudden jolt. Mother complained of her labour pains loudly, but what about me? This body I fully inhabit now was stretched out beyond comprehension and now all I feel is dry, cold and a little scared. What the hell just happened? This birth caper has got nothing going for it.
I used to float freely, encapsulated in a semi-dark womb, nurtured both by the fluids seeping into my bloodstream and the soothing sounds of Mother’s voice singing lullabies to me, her unborn child. I could kick and stretch and sleep, peacefully. I could float out into Space, too, as I loosened the silver cord that normally anchors me to this growing body. Out there, I could touch the stars and see the spirits of my ancestors come to greet me and guide me through the night sky.
Increasingly, though, I found it difficult to escape. The bigger I grew, the tighter the cord held, leaving me imprisoned in this tiny, helpless body. Birth didn’t help, it brought me pain and fear for which I will need counselling when I’m thirty-five to get over it. Hopefully, I’ll have gained some insights by then as to why we think we must repeat this cycle, time after time.
It seems rather silly, when one can will oneself out there, unfettered and free...
@Marc – oh my, I wonder what the prisoner has done. It seems he, at least, feels he has paid for his crime.
ReplyDelete@Writebite – oh, very intriguing. It does seem like we lose so much more than we realize when as we grow up and lose out innocence doesn’t it?
Today’s prompt brings me into the depth of Whoalwski’s dungeon – where drugged Lady Miriam communes with the Gods as she waits for her rescue. I won’t say anymore because someone hasn’t read that book yet *grins and giggles at Marc*
Imprisoned
Miriam’s mind wandered as she sat curled in her cell. They were with her. She could feel them through the drug the little boy had given her. Yet she had been scared of him. A boy.
Hush, they whispered. No she. It was only she now.
Sleep, she told Miriam, you will be rescued, this we promise.
Miriam hummed along to the song the Great-Grand Mother sang to her. The tune was as foreign as the sun had become, but the words caught her heart. Drifting to sleep she forgot in blissful ignorance that the drug would soon wear off.
I had thought it was a good idea when I received the email. Its subject was seemingly innocent. “Come to camp” was all that it had said. If truth be told, I was thrilled just to receive the invitation. Without hesitation I registered for August and agreed to the terms, 50,000 words in a single month. I’ve never attempted anything so daring. While my friends were discussing which manuscript draft they would be editing, I was struck by the sudden realization that I was not prepared. I have no story, no character, not even a single solitary idea that could support 50,000 words. To top it off these kids won’t be at school, they’ll be here with me! At this thought my mouth went dry and my throat began to close. Beads of sweat started to form on my forehead. I’m trapped, imprisoned by my own enthusiasm!
ReplyDeleteBut you know I’m great with deadlines; this may just work out to my advantage.
Imprisoned
ReplyDeleteButter yellow tulips sprouted from impossibly green stalks surrounded by a crystal vase on the coffee table, she knew that the flowers wouldn’t last long but Clement loved them nonetheless. All day she kept stopping mid chore and stare at the arrangement until her eyes lost focus beyond them, beyond time. My great grandmother Vi loved tulips, she would think. Or, tulips and I go a long way back.
The house was bursting with the aromas of freshly baking bread and beef stew, the floors shone, as did every surface in the three thousand square foot home. If a person was sensitive to smell they would pick up the scent of bees wax and lemons beneath the mouth-watering bouquets of supper. The polish was a homemade recipe Clement had from her father, it had always been the last touch on each piece of furniture he made. “Clementine,” he would say. “Don’t ever use anything else on your wood. See how it almost glows when I rub it into the grain.”
“Yes papa,” she would nod. “Can I help too?” He would solemnly hand over the cloth and then place his large warm hand over her small one and guide her strokes until the wood had a burnished luster.
Clement was stirring the flour to thicken the stew when suddenly she felt the air pressure change around her, Matt was home. The tension in her neck relaxed when she felt the door close. “I’m home,” he called. “Yum, something smells great.”
“In here,” she called out, she could hear the tension in her voice and tried to relax a little more.
“So are you going to club me to death with that or skewer me?” he asked nodding at her grip on the wooden spatula before walking over to give her a quick peck on the cheek.
“I was thinking of spitting you on it.”
“I’m afraid you’ll need a longer stick,” he said. “Fancy a drink?” He opened the cupboard door and pulled the rum bottle from the cupboard. He waved the bottle over his head. “After all, it’s Friday, a holy day on the Pastafarian calendar. His Noodliness would be offended if we didn’t have a drink of grog.” He squinted one eye at her and lifted an eyebrow. “Yarghhh?”
She started drumming her fingers on the countertop then stopped, Matt hated when she did that. “Okay?” she said.
“Does that mean okay, or are you asking me if it’s okay?” he said, but pulled out two glasses and built two stiff drinks.
She took a long sip from her rum and coke then ripped a sheet of paper towel, folded it in half, then placed her glass in the centre of it. The clinking sounds of Matt’s ice cubes seemed to go on for a long time, she turned to watch him finish the last of his drink. “Rough day?”
“You have no idea.”
Picking up her spatula again she stirred the beef stew then turned the element to warm. “I washed the living room windows today,” she said.
Matt’s glass shattered on the travertine tiles behind her. “You did what?” the words came out slightly choked. His face flickered from shock to hope and back again. They looked at each other than down at the broken glass.
“I picked some tulips in the backyard,” she said softly. To her amazement a cascade of tears wet Matt’s cheeks then he let out a loud whoop and pulled her into his arms.
Hey Marc,
ReplyDeletebeen very busy again, so no real time to pop in and write on this one. I'll try and get to the next one though!
Glad to hear that the deck's getting ready to be finished!
I like how the icy prison cell pushes the inmates thoughts to warmth and sunshine, I'd think I'd be depressed and cold instead :)
@Morrigan - Doing Camp NaNo I take it? I've passed this year. tom uch on my plate already. :}
ReplyDelete@Iron Bess - I love how it wasn't until the very end that you realize just what she has accomplished. Matt's reaction really drives it home. I love it.
@ Cathyn, yes, for the first time. I'm starting from scratch, I have nothing prepared to edit or no outline written. I have never attempted a story so long before, It's always been short stories for kids and teens.. So this is my first time doing a lot of things....
ReplyDeleteWritebite - beautiful.
ReplyDeleteCathryn - gah, I need to get back to reading that.
Morrigan - that's awesome, best of luck to you!
Iron Bess - fantastic scene. So authentic and deftly handled.
Greg - stop being so darn busy!