NaNoWriMo Best of the Daily (10)

     Maiden Abbot was true to her word and had stood like a raptdactyl ready to dive into a dead carcass, overseeing Terra’s washing of the floor, her shoes, and gathering of her soiled garments.  Pointing to the portal, the furious woman had ordered her to her quarters after confiscating her dinner token.  Terra wasn’t upset over that punishment, since she couldn’t have eaten a bite anyway.  She stood in her child sized zero-gravity mist chamber and let the crystallized water droplets moisten and exfoliate her skin.  Participant-2014-Square-ButtonIn her grief, she stood there so long that the operating system engaged the helpdesk, who asked if she was in need of assistance.  Pressing the “bake button,” as most Ancestrians referred to the radiant ionizer that dried any residual moistness remaining after a wash cycle, she’d donned a robe and curled up in her bunk.  There she’d remained, fetal position, until the following morning when the alarm woke her, and she lifted her wet face from the pillow.


Tune in for quick reads of the best (or least despicable) selections from the previous day’s word count, by virtue of my daily writing regimen for the National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

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Birthdays

I don’t know why I dislike the idea of people celebrating my birthday.  Maybe I didn’t get the memo from my family that the big giant deal made on birthdays ends at 18 and it crushed me.  Maybe I actually like it a little, but a deep sense of guilt permeates me for liking that kind of attention?  Lord knows I like to be listened to and watched as if on stage sometimes.  What I mean is, I want people to view me as knowledgeable and charming, dependable and as someone to look up to.  But I’m a wall flower by nature (and occasionally by hormones).  So I want people to only pay attention to me when I’m seeking it, when I’m ready for it, when I know my lines.  Otherwise, I like to be able to melt into the cracks of everyday casual and relax as I disappear into usual.

So when people make a big deal about my birthday, Continue reading

Mentor

Dear Sheri,

I miss you.  I wish I could still have your example to ponder and appreciate.  I wish I could emulate your direct, organized, no-nonsense, matter-of-fact leadership.  I wish I could find the combination of language, persona, and demeanor that would convey calm cool and collected while also stealthily wrapping people in your love.  If you were still alive, I would have called you at least ten times by now. Continue reading

cancer

You know how, on those National Geographic nature specials, the speedy stalking animal takes down one of the herd? And the narrator explains how the prey is one of the slower, sicker, or younger members of the group?  They claim that the hunter or pack pursues the prey in a way that eventually separates out one or more for their dinner.  But it doesn’t always line up, this explanation.  Sometimes the victim seems perfectly fine, not noticeably sluggish or weak – just unlucky.  That’s how I feel about cancer.

I recently heard somewhere that more and more women who have lived healthy, tobacco free lives, are getting lung cancer. Continue reading

The Sweeper and My Persian Rugs

The endless breath of memory until my lungs explode
and shards of passion and longing burst like fireworks
into my subconscious where my cleaning crew
rush to sweep self-loathing under rugs.
But the Persians are already stained and cannot hide
anymore mountains of repressed guilt and shame.
And besides, says the Sweeper, do you really want to forget? Continue reading 

Service

I roll out of colors,
the wind and the hush –
the setting familiar
so green and so lush.
The sunlight bears witness
to the grain in the wood.
I would come to you, Darling,
if only I could.

I would come to you,
tenderly placing my hand
in the small of your back –
that familiar, warm land.
And in whispers I’d write
one last love letter, Dear.
Do not linger in sadness,
that I am not here.

Give your tears, my Sweetheart,
as the wind blows consent
and the rifles all fire;
Count your grief fully spent.
Find a place in your memories
when joy was in flow;
pack your bag with those pictures
and pick up and go.

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