Endless Remorse

I've worlds at my fingertips because I have the imagination to give them life. I can create characters in those worlds with nothing more than a thought. I give them dilemma and I give them choice and yet I do not control their response. At that point all I can do is observe, and if I haven't made them real enough to direct themselves, then that is my dilemma; and my only choice, as the author, is what parts of the story to tell. I can leave out anything I want for whatever reason I want, and this is an author's only ability. If I do my duty well then my characters are real, and there is a mutual respect between us; and if I miss something important in their story, I should feel endless remorse.

Living, Dreaming, and Dying

Never in my life has saying goodbye been so difficult to do than now, when I’ve had to repeat it, over and over, but couldn’t bare to say the actual words. I feel helpless against the adversity of circumstance. I hold her with arms that are too weak to hold myself up alone, or the torrent of emotion back. Saying goodbye is a wretched thing to do; it means that the next time I see her, I will be happier than the last time, but it will be even more painful to leave. I couldn’t imagine dying being any harder than this.

Prompted

What would you be doing if there was no hand to stop you?

I’m clinging to the thinning thread of my life, eyes closed tight, afraid to look at the unfamiliar sea of possibility below. The water is as deep as I can imagine, and knowing this terrifies me. There is a strong wind fighting me, pushing me, pulling me; it sends waves higher and higher until my feet are wet with temptation, soaking into me and making me heavy with its enticing taunt. I tell myself to let go but stubbornly I keep holding on. My grip becomes desperate; my fingernails dig into my palms. Fear of failure. Fear of success. Fear of dying, of living, of changing. It’s been a lifetime since I accomplished anything even though my calendar only admits several years – I guess I know more about myself than time does. I tell myself to let go, and I say it over and over again, but still I’m in the same place I’ve always been. I finally realize that the only thing stopping me is myself; my hands have been holding on to the past because it’s all they know to hold. Slowly, apprehensively, one hand reaches for the future, then the other, leaving every bit of comfort behind me. But it doesn’t feel like falling. It feels like flying.

Unwavering Assault

The assault began immediately after I taunted her. When I thought there was nothing she could do to stop me. And indeed, last night was the closest she ever came; but once again, she failed.

The rain came down in sheets of bullets, fired at me from the West as I roared North. She pushed and pushed, trying to force me off the road, trying to slow me down. I wouldn’t give in. I wouldn’t show weakness.

The last drop landed on the back of my neck. Her momentary concession. Her way of saying, “There will be a next time. I will not be defeated.”

I laughed and echoed her.

The Sum

What have I been doing lately? Writing about sins and demons and piggy banks, thinking about life and living and location, and trying to get a mental foothold on this place I'm at so I can better leap to where I want to be.

It's so hard to be so far from where you should be.

Shaking Reality Out Of Belief

I had been sleeping for a few hours when I started to dream about doing laundry, because all my clothes and all my life needed cleaning. I opened the dryer door to take it all out but there was nothing inside. So I looked more carefully, inspected the inside of the dryer by climbing into it. Nothing. Somehow I understood that to find my things I would need to close the door. This way I could see the machine function, and if my things were going missing, I would see where. However, the door wouldn't close behind me. I pulled it tight, shook it. It wouldn't move. So I shook it more.

When she woke me up, my hand was on the top of her head and I was shaking it. I was disoriented and it took me several seconds before I could say anything. In my mind, I could feel the rational explanation of why I was shaking her, but at the same time, despite knowing it, I also knew it didn't make sense. Sometimes reality conflicts with belief, I suppose. Hard to choose sides when you're so fond of both.