Brigit's Flame - December 2008 - Week 2
Wow, this one is definitely special. I had a plot, and the story was pretty much written when this occurred to me at the last minute, and it seemed so obvious. I wanted it to be about 500 words and guess what Word says it's 500 words! I would need more time, but well, the deadline is coming so we'll see what happens ;)
This week's topic is CHAOS.
Enjoy, and don't hesitate to share your thoughts.
Definition
At first, he thought it would pass. It always passed.
This time it was different. The last time, it ran for a little over a week, but he finally managed to overcome the difficulty.
Now he was counting in weeks. A feeling of emptiness crept over his thoughts; he became its prisoner, unable to fight, to get rid of it. He felt like a blank sheet of paper on which nobody wanted to write. Even the peace and quiet of nature, the ingenuousness of pure-hearted innocence failed to ease the storm raging inside his heart, the roaring of the waves echoed the throbbing in his head, and soon he would drown in the sea of his misery.
Accepting the unacceptable seemed the only available alternative. He suffered from an invisible, incurable illness that let him in dire mental poverty. It occurred without warning, a breakup you never saw coming, where you wondered what went wrong, when nothing you could do would alter the situation and bring it back to its former glory despite the imperfections and annoying little ways you criticized, precisely those you then came to miss.
Confusion deteriorated his self, depriving him of his vim and any vestige of hope left, the light at the end of the tunnel became dimmer and dimmer until ... a sound, deep, hoarse helped him out.
He heard consonants, vowels, and his head spun as he crashed back to the land of the living. Adrenaline rushed through his entire body. Someone was talking to him. The tone of the voice indicated the mysterious stranger was asking him a question.
His state seemed similar to the one of a comatose patient unaware of his surroundings; though alive and breathing, he felt detached, lost in a floating blank space of nothingness. Melancholy transformed him into a robot in automatic mode.
Luckily, the man repeated the question and this time he paid attention, “Give me your definition.”
He was tempted to fiddle with the object in his hand, to cross his legs or engage in a silent reflection, which would consist of praying that the man let him off the hook, and asked someone else.
A quick glance around him, and he knew where he was, in a classroom. The blackboard reminded him the topic.
Unaccustomed to voicing his opinion under so many colorful spotlights, the students and teacher’s inquisitive eyes, he believed his own gaze gave away his incomprehension.
Sleepless nights blurred his vision, exhausted his mind, and impaired his ability to concentrate. Yet somehow, out of nowhere a word escaped from his subconscious.
“Chaos” he replied.
The professor froze in consideration, and launched into a passionate, pompous monologue, to which he promised himself to give heed, right after he finished admiring the humor of what just happened.
He smiled faintly, the first smile in a long time since this all began. The only definition he could think about to describe his condition and by a curious coincidence today’s topic, “What is writer’s block?”
THE END
This week's topic is CHAOS.
Enjoy, and don't hesitate to share your thoughts.
Definition
At first, he thought it would pass. It always passed.
This time it was different. The last time, it ran for a little over a week, but he finally managed to overcome the difficulty.
Now he was counting in weeks. A feeling of emptiness crept over his thoughts; he became its prisoner, unable to fight, to get rid of it. He felt like a blank sheet of paper on which nobody wanted to write. Even the peace and quiet of nature, the ingenuousness of pure-hearted innocence failed to ease the storm raging inside his heart, the roaring of the waves echoed the throbbing in his head, and soon he would drown in the sea of his misery.
Accepting the unacceptable seemed the only available alternative. He suffered from an invisible, incurable illness that let him in dire mental poverty. It occurred without warning, a breakup you never saw coming, where you wondered what went wrong, when nothing you could do would alter the situation and bring it back to its former glory despite the imperfections and annoying little ways you criticized, precisely those you then came to miss.
Confusion deteriorated his self, depriving him of his vim and any vestige of hope left, the light at the end of the tunnel became dimmer and dimmer until ... a sound, deep, hoarse helped him out.
He heard consonants, vowels, and his head spun as he crashed back to the land of the living. Adrenaline rushed through his entire body. Someone was talking to him. The tone of the voice indicated the mysterious stranger was asking him a question.
His state seemed similar to the one of a comatose patient unaware of his surroundings; though alive and breathing, he felt detached, lost in a floating blank space of nothingness. Melancholy transformed him into a robot in automatic mode.
Luckily, the man repeated the question and this time he paid attention, “Give me your definition.”
He was tempted to fiddle with the object in his hand, to cross his legs or engage in a silent reflection, which would consist of praying that the man let him off the hook, and asked someone else.
A quick glance around him, and he knew where he was, in a classroom. The blackboard reminded him the topic.
Unaccustomed to voicing his opinion under so many colorful spotlights, the students and teacher’s inquisitive eyes, he believed his own gaze gave away his incomprehension.
Sleepless nights blurred his vision, exhausted his mind, and impaired his ability to concentrate. Yet somehow, out of nowhere a word escaped from his subconscious.
“Chaos” he replied.
The professor froze in consideration, and launched into a passionate, pompous monologue, to which he promised himself to give heed, right after he finished admiring the humor of what just happened.
He smiled faintly, the first smile in a long time since this all began. The only definition he could think about to describe his condition and by a curious coincidence today’s topic, “What is writer’s block?”
THE END