Week #12 Story #9 and #10

July 28th, 2015 by Ash

Getting a little bit behind with my Sunday submissions (it being Tuesday and all) but I shall persevere!!

This first story is very very very short.  I began writing thinking it would be a lot longer, but the instant I wrote the last line I realised it didn’t need any more.  I really like this one, mostly because to write something 51 words long and have it be complete is pretty crazy!

Sometimes you have to know when to put the pen down!

Wild Ones

I was about a three months old when my dad told me I would probably only live about one year – Maybe 14 months if I was lucky.  When I asked him why, he said – Because we’re mice son.  That’s when a lot of things fell into place.

This next piece was much more difficult.  It is based HEAVILY on real life, but my first draft just stank of exposition.  There was very little craft in the original.  So, I applied my craft and invented elements to make the story a work of fiction but also a work of art.  This line between biography and artfully told life is a fascinating one.

Cultural Awareness

I was taking part in some cultural awareness training through the local community health group and we were doing a group participation exercise.  We had to write down three things that mattered most to us in the world on three separate bits of paper.  I wrote, in no particular order: music, my family, my quiet time.  Then, as part of the exercise, the facilitator pretended to be the uncaring government agency in charge of our welfare.  He told us we all had to choose one of the three important things.  After a moment, he said you have to pass your chosen thing along to the third person to your right.

I lost music, which was pretty shitty.  I collected the important thing from the third person to my left and I unwrapped the piece of paper, their important thing, read music.  At first I was happy, because I had gotten music back.  Then I looked closer at the piece of paper.  The hand writing slanted to the left slightly and was much neater than mine.  I counted three people to my left to see a woman in her forties with thick dark hair with her head down looking at her new important thing trying to make sense of it.  What music did she cherish? It appeared in my imagination to sound like traditional Farsi music.  I wanted to tell her I had her music.  She looked up at me and our eyes met.  I could see she was trying to explain in her mind how she could lose her child and I just happened to be there.  She was taking this exercise very hard.  I tried to show her with only my face that it was ok, but it either didn’t translate or it didn’t help.  Then the ‘Government Agency’ swept past us and took another of our important things due to “Cut backs”.  I was left with, my quiet time and this woman’s music.






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