Sudden storm

The stream of urine from the heavens blanketed the islands inhabitants in a blur, myself included. On a normal day, getting caught in this rampage would have infuriated me, but an ordinary day this was not. Minutes previous, the files were put down, the blackberry left on the desk, computer wiped clean, identification card shredded and I vanished. The destination was unknown, but the past was left where it belonged. On my journey into the unknown, the upheaval was welcome. For the first time in years, the smells of the world, in particular, that of the wet dirt underfoot, sparked an indescribable excitement. I was free to enjoy that which I had been avoiding since birth. What that would entail I was unsure, but I appreciated nature providing me with a cover of darkness, a wall of water to mask my disappearing act, and an avenue to cleanse myself of all that kept me down.

Sunday Scribblings (The Book That Changed Everything)

This week's prompt is The Book That Changed Everything: The note and key to the office were next to the coffee maker. Bert, it is done, thoughts? I trembled as I approached the unknown. This was her lair. The walls were adorned with black and white photographs of her favorite authors, the shelves contained the life works of the same, the desk was a dark mahogany monstrosity sitting atop a blood red carpet, and the chair was a weathered hand-me-down from her father. It smelled of crushed daisies. A better part of her waking hours were spent here. As long as I had known her, which was twenty-two years, I had never once been invited in. Truth be told, I had never seen another pass through those doors. In my youth, I pestered, prodded and pled to know the going-ons. For nine years, she withstood my barrage and remained silent. She is tough that way. It is why I loved her. Then one day, to my delight, she stated, after asking for creamer, “I am writing my life's thoughts.” Nothing else was said. I accepted this nugget, imagined a monumental manuscript, and proudly announced to all that would listen that my bride was crafting the next great American novel. In her, I knew nothing less than perfection would find its way to the page. On the desktop sat a leather-bound book wrapped in a carpet matching ribbon. I untied it with the greatest of care, and listened closely as the binding broke. Being the first to open such a magnificent piece was something I did not want to pass me by. It was entitled My Thoughts. The dedication read “To all who have crossed my path.” In anticipation of the read, I called out of work, retrieved my coffee, removed my shoes and sat back in the chair. To say I was overcome with pride would be an understatement. I dove in. Page 1: I was not put on this earth to settle for this. Page 2: I was not put on this earth to settle for this. Page 3: I was not put on this earth to settle for this. Page 4: I was not put on this earth to settle for this. . . . It never changed, six hundred and thirty-three pages of the same line. I leaned back, aching heart in my chest, and cried.

Sunday Scribblings (Fluent)

This week's word is Fluent:

A lifetime of study, hard work and understanding was summarily written off by society as shallow, easy and whorish. But unlike the labels, this was not short sightedness. To the contrary, this was an expertise gained by a relentless passion for knowledge. While others forgetfully floated through their formative years, she spent it studying the other side, trying desperately to grasp every gesture, move and spoken word. It started with her father, moved onto her brothers, and continued with the nameless many who relentlessly pursued. With the knowledge gained through years of tireless research came a power. A power the others did not possess, yet resented with ever ounce of their beings. Because of that, they had no choice but to critique, criticize and push upon her a false moral high ground. What they failed to grasp was that she had done what all should do: become fluent in that which allowed her to control and manipulate one half of the world's population, men.