Eureka!

When I read that the word of the week was SPARK, my first thought was to write about arson, and while I am not sure what that says about me, I decided to nix that thought. I instead went with the spark of inspiration, a dream becoming reality, and the story of someone who made it happen.


Everyone has a purpose in life, a destiny, and she knew down to her very soul that this enterprise was hers.


The idea had come to her first in a dream, barely formed, a single nebulous thought, but it was there, the spark of inspiration that had led her to where she was today.


There had been more dreams after the first, shaping the spark, fanning it into the tiniest of flames, and protecting it against the mocking she faced from those she told about it in her everyday life.


She didn’t pull her journal out often, but she did keep updating it, over the days, weeks, months, years, that followed, she kept adding little bits here and there, taking it further from being a dream, and inching it towards reality.


Most people didn’t know why she chose to double major, calling her insane, but she wasn’t insane, she had a vision, she knew exactly what she would need to make that vision a reality, and she pursued it with a single minded determination that bordered on obsession.

It was all worth it though, the sacrifices, all of it, because she had done it- she thought as she looked down at the impossible life that she held in her hands, it’s too sharp teeth reflecting the overhead lights- even if maybe she shouldn’t have.

Bound

The word of the week is KNOT, and I am going to be entirely honest, I have NO idea how I got to this story, from that prompt.  This is the story about a woman who is the keeper of a knot, ensuring it does not be untangled, and I can’t really explain more without giving the story away, but think mythology…


Her fingers were bleeding again, but it didn’t matter, because she knew that she couldn’t be the one to let the knot unravel.

Everyone had heard of the tapestry, the threads, but what most didn’t know was that in the tapestry there were knots, and no matter what happened they could not be allowed to unwind.

Once unknotted, that which they contained would be lost forever, and the last time it had happened, an innocent girl had been blamed for the trespass, as if opening a box could have caused such a calamity.

There were only eight knots left, and as thankless as it was, keeping this one tied was her life’s work, and she would not see it undone.

She would never know which of the knots she maintained, as the nature of the knot could only be revealed in its destruction, and the fates were careful not to tell the volunteers if they guarded the remaining virtue, or one of the seven great vices.

And she would give her life to the knot, in the understanding that it was the hope in the hearts of all men that kept them going when they had nothing else, and that she would not be the reason it was lost.

Good Intentions

The word of the week is guard, and I ended up going with the definition as in a person whose occupation is guard. It went a little off after that, and even I wasn’t sure what required a guard until I got there. Definitely a great creative exercise!


I always thought that people who ended up in this kind of situation knew that they could end up here, and could look back and pick out the choice that led them to their inevitable end.


It was only as I sat in the small room, with a 24/7 guard outside the door, that I began to realize that this wasn’t always the case, and I knew because that wasn’t the way it had gone for me.


If you were being nitpicky, you could point out that I knew when I called in a bomb threat on a public building that this was a possible outcome, but getting to that point, the point where I called in a fake threat wasn’t just a single choice affair.


It would be easy to say it was my parents divorce, joining science club, watching a chunk the size of Rhode Island fall off of a glacier, but it was none of those things, all of those things, and a thousand other little incidents that led me here today.


Maybe it would only have taken a single change for this not to be where I ended up, or maybe all of everything could change and I would still end up here, a product of fate, or just genetics.


The important bit was that I called in what I thought was a fake bomb threat, 37 innocent people died, and I would have to live my entire life knowing that if I had taken my part of the “hoax” a little more seriously, that I might not be sitting accused of domestic terrorism.

Let’s Get the Band Back Together

The word of the week was BAND, and I went “Let’s get the Band Back Together”. In this piece our main character learns the hard way not to agree to something without knowing all the details, and suffer the consequences of their actions.


Let’s get the band back together, she had said, and the noise I had made in response was more one of acknowledgment that she had spoke, than one of agreement.


Let’s get the band back together, had sounded so innocent than when it did register, I thought nothing of it, and assumed that she wouldn’t follow through anyways


Let’s get the band back together, had made me assume that she had called those of us that were still among the living, and arranged a reunion at her place.


Let’s get the band back together, didn’t bring to mind images of pentagrams, dark magics, sacrifices, or three people too afraid of the crazy lady with the knife to say no to her terrible plan.


Let’s get the band back together, made you think the band, just the band, and not the things that followed through the door that we had opened and did not know how to shut.


We got the band back together, but it was short, terrifying, full of screams that would haunt me till the day I died, and in the long years that followed, where I lived in fear every-time I saw movement from the corner of my eye, I would never again make a hmmm of acknowledgment.