Sunday Scribblings No. 112: Quitting

Inspired by Sunday Scribblings #112 and a prompt from WritersDigest.com

After years of unhappiness, you've finally had enough and have decided to quit but we're not talking about your job. Write a letter of resignation to someone other than your employer, your school, your family, your favorite sports team, whatever.

To Whom It May Concern:

I hereby give notice of my intention to leave my position as a member of the human race.

I have decided that it is time to move on and that just because I belong to this species due to a quirk of biological fate, I do not have to accept, nor perpetuate my role as one of its members. This was not an easy decision. However, I am confident that my new role as an independent thinker and unique being will help me to move towards many of the goals I have for my life.

I understand that my contract as a member of humankind lasts approximately seventy-five years, but I would like to begin my new life at the earliest possible date. Therefore, I would like to request that you negate my contract and relieve me of my duties immediately. Please be assured that I will do all I can to not make this transition difficult or abdicate any personal responsibilities such as recognizing the basic human rights of others.

If only others of my species would do the same, I would not have felt the need to resort to such a drastic measure. Should you again have any need for my skills in the area of being a valued member of society, I would of course consider returning if proven that the human race has improved its chances of survival by recognizing that “all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and conscience and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood.”* In addition, it must be acknowledged that each member has a right to life, liberty, freedom of expression, and equality before the law. They deserve unfettered access to culture, food, work, health care, and education. Until that time when these things are the rule rather than the exception, I will remain firm in my decision in renouncing my membership.

In the meantime, I wish you and humanity every good fortune and I would like to thank you for having me as a part of your team.

Respectfully,

Me


*Article 1 of the United Nations Universal Declaration of Human Rights

3WW #80

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday
This weeks words: Parallel, Bounce, Mysterious

dark spin vortex by ~Jryen45 on deviantART

The Addict

Keeping parallel to the row of parked cars, she struggled to walk in a straight line. Anonymous faces of those she passed bounced in her peripheral vision, making it even more difficult to hold back the bile threatening to overcome her at any moment. Soon, it all became too much and she had to stop to grasp a nearby light post for support.

Slowly, she focused her eyes on one particular spot on the horizon. Breathing deeply, she felt her mind clearing and the nausea receding. She had sworn to herself that this would never happen again, but here she was kicking herself for thinking she could overcome the addiction simply with willpower alone.

She knew she needed help. But how? How could she explain this mysterious need she had, an obsession really. She had never been able to deny the compulsion she felt to make this time better than the last. To feel the rush and the thrill in the pit of her stomach that no other experience could offer. Then the remorse of what she’d done would hit, and she would swear that it was going to be the last time. But it never was.

It would be so much easier she thought, if the temptation were removed. But why ruin everyone else’s fun just because she couldn’t control her own urges? It seemed so easy for the others. She wished she knew their secret; that she too, could learn to recognize when enough was enough. Someday, she said to herself, I will kick this addiction. Someday I will be able to pass that damn playground carousel and not insist on riding it faster, harder, and longer than the time before.

The Coming Storm

Inspired by Two for Tuesdays
This weeks words: Cross and/or Act

In addition, I challenged myself to create a short fiction piece of exactly 250 words, not including the title.

The Coming Storm

The crossing is rough, but not enough to keep me at the railing feeding the waves with my sickness as is the case with several of my fellow passengers. I was never one to feel ill from the movement while above deck, it is only when I venture below that my stomach seeks to betray me.

Looking toward the horizon, I marvel at the single-minded tenacity of nature. Dull explosions emanate from below as each wave assaults the bow attempting to impede our progress. It is as if some signal has been sent from the far shore, commanding the water to do its best to repel our imminent invasion.

Although the sun shines and no cloud is visible for miles, I know a storm is out there, waiting. Let it come, or let it pass, it means nothing to me. This is no act of bravery on my part I assure you, nor is it due to possessing some special form of courage. I do not fear death. I cannot, for I am dead already. I died the day I found them hanging from the rafters, left there as a message condemning me for my treachery.

One day, God willing, my body will grow as cold as my heart. Let the storm come. Nothing can torment me more than the tempest of memories that haunt my every waking hour. What is a storm but another form of battle? Let it come. One way or another, my soul will find peace.

Part II

3WW #76

For this weeks Three Word Wednesday, the words are: Rest, Sidewalk, Twice

On Being Hank

Twice I’ve been stepped over. And each time I refused to acknowledge the violation, at least not outwardly. However on the inside, my feelings are quite different on the matter. Can’t they see? Don’t they know? This is my space, my place to rest. Grrrrr.

I picked this patch of sidewalk specifically for its view of the street. I can see everything from here. Nothing, not even that sneaky little Pomeranian escapes my glare. He thinks I don’t know about that little spot under the hedge, the one where he buries his treasures. They are stupid, all of them. I hate dogs. Pitiful creatures. Not worth the fur they were born in.

No. I do not rest here. I keep watch. Oh, it may look like I could care less, my gaze seemingly distant and arrogant. But no, nothing escapes me, except these stupid people who seem to think that they have the right to invade my space. Grrrrr.

“Honey? Would you please do something about this?”

“What?”

“He’s at it again.”

“Who? Hank?”

“Yes Hank. Goddamn cat thinks he owns the sidewalk. Look at him.”

Yes. Admire me human, for I am cat. Go ahead. Step over me again. I dare you.

“Uh. Honey?”

“Huh?”

“He’s staring at me.”

“Yeah, so?”

“He’s giving me that look. You know the one.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

“What should I do?”

“Stop annoying him.”

“I’m annoying him. I’m annoying him?!”

“Do you remember the last time you ‘annoyed’ him? Hmmmm?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Going inside now? Good. I like a human who knows his place. Yes. This is my spot. So warm, so nice. Yes, I am cat - hear me purrrrrr.

The Clarity of Night Short Fiction Contest

Good News, Bad News

The bad news:

It seems terrible that I only recently found out about this contest, and even more so that I am posting this information right before the event closes.

The good News:

Jason Evans, and he wife Aine, provide regular opportunities to participate in such contests. If you would like to know more about their site and their work, please click here: The Clarity of Night.

The current event is using the above photograph as a prompt for writing a short fiction piece of no more than 250 words. This is the first time I have ever entered my work to be 'judged'. So far, it has been a great experience. I encourage you, if you haven't ever considered this as an option, to check out Jason's blog. I don't think you will be disappointed.

The following is my entry:

Out On A Limb by J.C. Montgomery

With each gust, I am shaken. Not roughly mind you, but just enough to remind me that my tenuous hold upon this branch grows weaker with each passing hour. I am scared. I want down. Why can no one hear my cries for help?

Below me, children scamper amidst the leaf piles. Their father has worked all morning to gather up the debris, and if the wind were not enough to undo all his hard work, he now has to contend with the possibility of a careless tumble undoing hours of persistent raking. Why can they not hear me?

Usually I am quite fond of my solitude. On any given day you can find me curled up on the couch, or entrenched firmly between king sized pillows, always alone, and always happy. I rarely venture out of my self-imposed cocoon, but today was the first sunny day we’ve had since the last snow. Why did I do it? Why?

I was sitting by the window, warming myself with memories of summer when I saw them. They were sitting on a branch not far from where I am now. It was a whim I could not control. They scattered when they spied me coming, taunting me as they fled. And now, I’m here, alone and unsure of what to do next. What was I thinking? How did I manage?

Someone help me, please. I try to say it loudly, hoping someone can hear.

“Meeoooow!”

Please hear me. Please save me. Please!

Sunday Scribblings No. 97: Fridge Space

Inspired by Sunday Scribblings Number Ninety-Seven: Fridge Space

The Magical Magnetical Moment

Some time ago, a magnetic poetry kit found its way onto a refrigerator in a quiet suburban home. No one knew who purchased it. No one admitted to its ownership. For many days, the words stuck firmly to their assigned spots. Not one moved from where it had been placed.

Days later, there was a gathering spontaneously mustered by the magical occurrence that presented itself upon the white glossy door. They were mesmerized; magnetically attached to what was before them. The words were moved, shifted, and shuffled into a new configuration. What is this? What does it mean?

Singing beneath still visions
A sweet symphony
Whispers to the dreamer

A delicate garden of language
Springing from delirious sleep
Daylight manipulates the music

Shadows rain from above
Crushing the moment
Producing eternity

Again, they all looked to each other for acknowledgement. There was none. All remained silent. Each shook their head. No one revealed the truth.

Slowly a realization came upon them. Words are what we shape them to be. Interpretation is the real ownership. Each discovered that fridge space is not empty space. It is simply another surface, another palette available to the magic that is creativity.

Doubt is the magnet, and it is our imagination that has the power to arrange our words into coherence. This is how emptiness becomes fullness, how thought finds freedom, how words become art. This was the magical magnetical moment.