AWOS tie-breaker challenge
So I was tied with another user on a poll regarding a writing challenge, and I got this topic for my new tie-breaker entry: 'The moment of truth'
This is my take on the topic:
THE BIRD IN THE HEDGE
The wind threw fresh and cool gusts in my face as I watched the sunset, a plethora of orange and yellow colors burning calmly in the horizon. Listening to the last shrieks of the gulls before they would turn in for the night. Where did they hide at night? I had always wondered that question, because I had never seen the slightest sign of birds after darkness had fallen, except of course for those who were nocturnal. Wrinkling my brows slightly in speculation I closed my eyes, just listening to the buzzing and humming of the traffic on the bridge behind me. The day birds had to hide in the bushes and trees, of course - but not a single time had a spooked bird shown itself after I would tumble deliriously into a hedge in my state of various intoxications, flailing my arms wildly and cussing out loud. And that had occurred a substantial amount of times. Well, maybe the poor birds had just been somewhere else. They seemed to be mystical creatures, who simply vanished into thin air along with the daylight. I felt like a bird sometimes. Transparent and unable to be seen even though I was surrounded by people. I didn't feel much like a magical creature though, more like 'an accident', like I once overheard my mother say through the wall when she thought I was asleep. I had always felt like a shadow among others, blending with the walls and keeping my head down to avoid eye contact. I guess I was like a hidden bird in a hedge, only I was incapable of flying. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal... And trying to mingle and blend in with others had quickly turned me into a chameleon of sorts, who put on a mask for every unwanted occasion. I was unseen. I did know that people were pretty opinionated when it came to my type of person though... 'Trainspotting', the British cult movie, had pretty much headlined my life ever since I hit puberty. Drugs, various incarcerations for things like shoplifting, assault and carjacking, hollow friendships which quickly faded into the sand once either the money or the drugs ran out. The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense... life doesn't. The slandering of my person once I was finally - and accidentally - noticed by someone, either older or upper class or both, didn't make my day any better. But I couldn't help but think that those who criticize our generation has forgotten who raised it. I bet my mom would be thrilled to hear that her son was having such thoughts. Rebellious. Rebellious indeed.
I inhaled a big gulp of moist air as I let my glance explore the waves so far down over the bridge's ledge. The dark waves reflected the dying sun in a charcoal-like orange and I smiled slightly. I thought this was beautiful... like the way my mom used to tell me that ugly people were beautiful on the inside. She was not exactly a beauty herself, so I had always wondered if that statement had been some kind of intricate way of telling me that there really was no beauty in the world. But the way her voice had sounded when she said it - that was beauty to me. Maybe there wasn't a lot of affection, maybe the liquor bottle was more important than me... But to this day I still remember her voice when she had said that to me as I lay sick in bed at the age of seven. Or maybe it had been a simple fever delirium. But no matter what it was, it had stuck with me and I had carried it with me to this bridge at the age of thirty-two. A paradox that I treasured above all... Was it true or was it false? Had her eyes been lying? Do ugly people only say such things to make themselves feel better? I was probably not very pretty on the inside, I could bend a crowbar over an uncooperative store owner's head in a heartbeat. On the outside? Who knew, I always wore my illusive mask. Like the bird in the hedge. An invisibility cloak seemed to be my attire of choice at all occasions. And the mirror would always lie like a turncoat, telling me one thing Tuesday and another Friday. Or was it only myself?
The sun was sinking into the blue oblivion and the shades of orange were fading into smoky red. I smiled as the first stars started to peek out from the arc of the heavens. Small dots of shimmering white. I had always imagined that this whole universe was like one of those glass balls with snow in them that you would buy for Christmas. Give it a shake, and snow would float about inside the glass walls. Or planets. Now someone had put black duct tape over the glass orb, pricking small holes in the tape to let the mysterious light from an unknown and bigger world shine through... which we called stars. Smiling to myself I watched as the smoky red started to die out and the waves below turned black. This was my cue. I was a sucker for the truth, always had been. But when you question everything, one answer turns into a billion alternate answers and more question marks start to claw at your soul. My brain sometimes hurt from all this figuring out. It had worn me down over the years... and no matter what drug I was on it didn't seem to change anything. I never got any closer to any sort of answer to anything. The best mind-altering drug is truth, which I never got my hands on. But I would make my own truth happen. I guess I was in for the rush of a lifetime.
The gusts of wind picked up their speed as I looked over my shoulder at the traffic on the bridge. I felt my heart pumping away like a V8 engine as I glanced at the rear lights of a truck passing by. No more thinking. Action speaks louder than words, and I was tired of words - spoken or unspoken. With a swift move I swung myself onto the ledge as agile as a mountain lion. I felt the eagerness pounding inside my skull, and finally it seemed like the flow of words had stopped as I stared down at the black waves far below. Stretching my arms out to the side I thought of the hidden bird in the hedge... someone was tooting their horns as cars behind me stopped, but I didn't notice. I was the bird in the hedge. My old sneakers got up on their toes and I heard the concrete under the soles crunch slightly under my weight. No words. This was the moment of truth.
This is my take on the topic:
THE BIRD IN THE HEDGE
The wind threw fresh and cool gusts in my face as I watched the sunset, a plethora of orange and yellow colors burning calmly in the horizon. Listening to the last shrieks of the gulls before they would turn in for the night. Where did they hide at night? I had always wondered that question, because I had never seen the slightest sign of birds after darkness had fallen, except of course for those who were nocturnal. Wrinkling my brows slightly in speculation I closed my eyes, just listening to the buzzing and humming of the traffic on the bridge behind me. The day birds had to hide in the bushes and trees, of course - but not a single time had a spooked bird shown itself after I would tumble deliriously into a hedge in my state of various intoxications, flailing my arms wildly and cussing out loud. And that had occurred a substantial amount of times. Well, maybe the poor birds had just been somewhere else. They seemed to be mystical creatures, who simply vanished into thin air along with the daylight. I felt like a bird sometimes. Transparent and unable to be seen even though I was surrounded by people. I didn't feel much like a magical creature though, more like 'an accident', like I once overheard my mother say through the wall when she thought I was asleep. I had always felt like a shadow among others, blending with the walls and keeping my head down to avoid eye contact. I guess I was like a hidden bird in a hedge, only I was incapable of flying. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal... And trying to mingle and blend in with others had quickly turned me into a chameleon of sorts, who put on a mask for every unwanted occasion. I was unseen. I did know that people were pretty opinionated when it came to my type of person though... 'Trainspotting', the British cult movie, had pretty much headlined my life ever since I hit puberty. Drugs, various incarcerations for things like shoplifting, assault and carjacking, hollow friendships which quickly faded into the sand once either the money or the drugs ran out. The difference between fiction and reality? Fiction has to make sense... life doesn't. The slandering of my person once I was finally - and accidentally - noticed by someone, either older or upper class or both, didn't make my day any better. But I couldn't help but think that those who criticize our generation has forgotten who raised it. I bet my mom would be thrilled to hear that her son was having such thoughts. Rebellious. Rebellious indeed.
I inhaled a big gulp of moist air as I let my glance explore the waves so far down over the bridge's ledge. The dark waves reflected the dying sun in a charcoal-like orange and I smiled slightly. I thought this was beautiful... like the way my mom used to tell me that ugly people were beautiful on the inside. She was not exactly a beauty herself, so I had always wondered if that statement had been some kind of intricate way of telling me that there really was no beauty in the world. But the way her voice had sounded when she said it - that was beauty to me. Maybe there wasn't a lot of affection, maybe the liquor bottle was more important than me... But to this day I still remember her voice when she had said that to me as I lay sick in bed at the age of seven. Or maybe it had been a simple fever delirium. But no matter what it was, it had stuck with me and I had carried it with me to this bridge at the age of thirty-two. A paradox that I treasured above all... Was it true or was it false? Had her eyes been lying? Do ugly people only say such things to make themselves feel better? I was probably not very pretty on the inside, I could bend a crowbar over an uncooperative store owner's head in a heartbeat. On the outside? Who knew, I always wore my illusive mask. Like the bird in the hedge. An invisibility cloak seemed to be my attire of choice at all occasions. And the mirror would always lie like a turncoat, telling me one thing Tuesday and another Friday. Or was it only myself?
The sun was sinking into the blue oblivion and the shades of orange were fading into smoky red. I smiled as the first stars started to peek out from the arc of the heavens. Small dots of shimmering white. I had always imagined that this whole universe was like one of those glass balls with snow in them that you would buy for Christmas. Give it a shake, and snow would float about inside the glass walls. Or planets. Now someone had put black duct tape over the glass orb, pricking small holes in the tape to let the mysterious light from an unknown and bigger world shine through... which we called stars. Smiling to myself I watched as the smoky red started to die out and the waves below turned black. This was my cue. I was a sucker for the truth, always had been. But when you question everything, one answer turns into a billion alternate answers and more question marks start to claw at your soul. My brain sometimes hurt from all this figuring out. It had worn me down over the years... and no matter what drug I was on it didn't seem to change anything. I never got any closer to any sort of answer to anything. The best mind-altering drug is truth, which I never got my hands on. But I would make my own truth happen. I guess I was in for the rush of a lifetime.
The gusts of wind picked up their speed as I looked over my shoulder at the traffic on the bridge. I felt my heart pumping away like a V8 engine as I glanced at the rear lights of a truck passing by. No more thinking. Action speaks louder than words, and I was tired of words - spoken or unspoken. With a swift move I swung myself onto the ledge as agile as a mountain lion. I felt the eagerness pounding inside my skull, and finally it seemed like the flow of words had stopped as I stared down at the black waves far below. Stretching my arms out to the side I thought of the hidden bird in the hedge... someone was tooting their horns as cars behind me stopped, but I didn't notice. I was the bird in the hedge. My old sneakers got up on their toes and I heard the concrete under the soles crunch slightly under my weight. No words. This was the moment of truth.