It’s almost Friday, close enough for Friday Fictioneers. We are a group of writers who like to tell stories of 100 words according to a photo prompt. We are led by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple. Anyone can join in if so inclined. Here are my 100 words this week.
Sarah felt the sting of the woman’s words. Every hiss and barb. They tore into her soul. She didn’t matter.
“You don’t talk, Sarah. You don’t get to talk until I am done!”
She could not get in a word. Tears clouded her eyes. She screamed into the telephone.
“You stupid woman! You stupid cow! Who do you think you are? Why can’t I talk?” It was all in futility. The woman kept up her barrage. Sarah slammed the phone down.
Ashamed, she caught her breath and dialed the number on display.
Saturday morning, sunlight streaming through the windows. A morning too beautiful to be distracted by a million useless thoughts. They are teeming and floating in my brain like the dust motes in sunbeams. I want to eradicate them, but the more I try, the more agitated I become. There’s nothing to do but to accept every one of them gracefully and move along as best as I can.
What I need to do today is physical work, moving one foot in front of the other. Do one thing and then another. No deep thoughts or brain surgery today. If thoughts arise, I can watch them as clouds floating by. No good in delving into them. I cannot solve the mysteries of life – especially on days when I feel like this.
Days like this are best spent in quiet solitude. No point in seeking company or help either. I bet even my mother is not available. Best hunker down, take a breath and ease myself. Words are not coming easily. Sentences do not form. Thoughts assault my head in tangles. Get a grip. Get a move on. What can you do?
It is evening now. My thoughts and nettles have settled. Lunch have been made and ate. I have doodled and transplanted seedlings of cabbages, kohlrabi and other things of green. Sheba and I have walked. Supper is in the making. Now I sit and tap a few words here and there. Nothing to write home about. Nothing lost either. I am sure there will be more days like today ahead. The thing is not to despair, not to think too much and not to strive at all. The thing to do is just that – do.
There is pleasure in doing – the physical satisfaction of something accomplished despite everything going against our grain. You see, I do strive even though. I can’t help myself. There is nothing wrong in being your authentic self.
It is Friday night, a good time for Friday Fictioneers. We like to tell stories of 100 or so words according to a photo prompt. We are hosted by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple, author of Say Kaddish for Me, From Silt and Ashes and other books. Congrats, Rochelle on your book launch. Here’s my 100 humble words for this week.
Dusk had fallen. Night coming fast. The urge stirred in his belly. He sucked in his breath. Clenching his abdominal muscles, he willed all to be still inside. He did not want to give in and lose himself. A growl rumbled in the back of his throat. He clawed at his neck. Hair was growing on the back of his hands.
He glanced upward. A sliver of moon slid out between the clouds. Can he hide from it? Can he hang on? He ducked into the darkness within the walls. Damn, too late! He raised his head and howled.