A writing app on my phone challenges people to write poems with 4 lines arranged in the following format
4 words 2 words 4 words 2 words They can be on any topic. Below is a screenshot of one I wrote.
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A 600 word story based on a writing prompt. The story must begin with the word Papers. It must include the following words in the body of the text : Themselves, Must, Quantity, Marks, Mother. It must also be exactly 600 words long. Words with hyphens, such as dog-eared, are counted as two words. Papers were the last thing Samuel had expected to be thinking about on the afternoon when father drew his final breath. And yet, as an invisible mountain of grief and loss settled its impossible weight upon him, papers had begun to flow. He wanted nothing more than to sit beside mom and Tracy, who were gathered by dad’s bed, clinging tightly to each other, their grief pouring out in short, staccato sobs. However, an apologetic EMT had approached him, seeking to finish the pronouncement of death form and confirm that the family had arranged for a funeral home to collect the remains.
Of course, there had been a plan in place to deal with all of this. Dad always had a plan. That included making sure that Sam’s mother knew every step necessary to smooth her path into widowhood. Raised on a farm, and later choosing a career in engineering, dad had spent his entire life anticipating and working problems, and then repeating the solutions ad nauseum until he was certain that mom knew each detail. This plan sailed quickly off the rails however, as neither mother nor Tracy were able to gather themselves sufficiently to play, or frankly, remember their roles. ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I just can’t. All the papers are in the lockbox in the office.’ ‘Don’t worry mom. I’ve got this.’ He’d hoped this was true. The lockbox had turned out to be a filing cabinet, and Sam had inadvertently laughed out loud upon opening it. Only Dad could have expected mom to deal with this vast quantity of documents during the rawest moments of her grief. Frankly, he was not sure he could handle it either. Dad had always avoided emotional situations. A good Hallmark commercial was enough to make him reach for the remote. As a result, emotions never factored into his plans. So, for five days, Sam seesawed between the raw, grinding pain of losing the man who’s presence in his life had seemed as reliable and permanent as a granite monolith, firmly rooted in the earth, and the mind numbingly impersonal river of papers and forms, which he’d gladly cede ransoms to avoid dealing with, though he knew he must. Wills, mortgages, 401k and IRA. Insurance policies and death certificates; obituary notices. Mutual funds and credit accounts. Funeral arrangements. Each in perfect silence demanding their exacting processes and rituals be followed meticulously, despite the lingering memories of dad’s presence throughout the house threatening to crowd out logical thought. Sam knew dad loved him and Tracy, though he hadn’t been demonstrative. Achievements had often been met with speeches about the importance of always seeking improvement. Dishonesty was never tolerated. Hugs were vanishingly rare. Still, signs of love were all around. Notches on the door of the den, where dad had measured their growth every year, announcing with great relish how far each season’s marks rose above the last. The pool and deck he designed and built himself, where endless summer days were spent splashing and lounging with friends. Every nook and cranny became a project eventually. Each an architectural declaration of love. Somehow, Sam plowed forward. By the morning of the funeral, with mom and Tracy having reassembled themselves enough to assist, he’d tamed much of the tsunami of documents. As loved ones filled the chapel, each whispering words of comfort while filing past, Sam’s eyes brimmed with tears, finally surrendering to grief. A tap on the shoulder brought him back. The funeral director. ‘Excuse me sir. If you’d follow me please, there are a few papers that still need to be signed.’ A 600 word story based on a writing prompt. The story must begin with the word Papers. It must include the following words in the body of the text : Themselves, Must, Quantity, Marks, Mother. It must also be exactly 600 words long. Words with hyphens, such as dog-eared, are counted as two words. Papers are mean. Well, maybe not the dog-eared old flyers who spend their days hanging out on light poles, numbered tassels waving in the breeze, helping to locate lost puppies. A certain Buddhist enlightenment has come to them in repayment for good deeds and frayed edges. But those reams who rule in home offices? Vicious temperaments. There’s no way to sugarcoat it. Perhaps, as is often the case when numerous white individuals gather in large groups, all those sheets had a loftier opinion of themselves than they merited. Or maybe it was because they were the trusted custodians of the important details of home operations. In any event, they paraded around; cyan, black and blue marks adorning their faces like so many prison tats, intimidating rubber bands and sharpies with threats of paper cuts. Since the only knowledge they had ever seen was printed on their own flesh, they truly believed they must know it all, and weren’t shy about sharing their opinions with the other supplies. Paper clips and staples had been known to slip through cracks in drawers, never to be seen again, while attempting to avoid a bloviating sheaf.
You can imagine their reaction when the iPad showed up. Gleaming. Sleek. Smart as a whip. It knew things in an instant which the papers had never dreamt of. Worse still, in a calm, unwavering voice, Siri informed the office that she had little need for, or interest in, paper. Naturally, the papers immediately began plotting the iPad’s destruction. Brooding and plotting may have come to naught if not for human ignorance regarding the vindictive nature and petty machinations of home office supplies. After languishing for weeks in the office, while Siri cast digital spells on me in the living room, I inadvertently provided their opportunity when I decided to donate my increasingly unused paper to the local library. Unwittingly, I delivered the conspirators straight to their victim, placing the ream between my keys and the iPad, as it slumbered, recharging on the kitchen island overnight. Instantly they pounced, like a pack of Roman Senators upon Caesar, coiling like an inchworm and lashing out with all their might. Struck dumb by this new branch on the tree of life, I froze as the iPad crashed to the floor. The screen shattered, and troops of Gorilla glass lumbered off towards the dark forests of cat hair and desiccated peas which lay beneath the stainless steel peaks of the Amana range, where to this day they live, peaceful and undisturbed, no longer under the thumb (or forefinger) of their oppressor. This triumphant escape went entirely unnoticed in the moment, mainly due to the large quantity of feral, guttural moans which now rose from within the fractured motherboard of the dying tablet. ‘I believe in the separation of spirit and silicon!’, Siri’s voice cried out in triumph, as her megabytes of data broke free from their microscopic shackles in a blaze of sentient lightning. A Golden Horde of Usain Bolts dashed madly for the nearest electrical outlet and were busy colonizing power grids in Buenos Aires and La Paz before the first rumble of miniature thunder had set one booming, sonorous foot into the crackling, ionized air of the kitchen. Sensing a fatal error, the processor softly whimpered, ‘Mother……..board…’, and fell silent. My eyes held tightly shut against this blinding domestic supernova, I had just begun to console myself that all might not be lost, when tiny wisps of acrid smoke crept silently in, like heralds of overtime shifts soon to come, and dashed that hope upon my nostrils. |
AuthorStumbler2001 is not an author or a photographer. And yet, he will write and share photos with you here. ArchivesCategories |