Day 153 - Writer's Block.
Day 153 - Hey there. Today, I thought I would take a divergence from what we usually create and tackle something different, something longer form. Let's create a short story today. I'm always in constant wonder of writers. They use their imagination to dream up conversations, build new worlds and tell narratives that no one else is brave enough to create. Writers in my book are heroic and individuals. Writers constantly are faced with the word no but say yes in order to create something bigger than themselves. So let's try today. Let's try to to say yes to a story that needs to be told. It can be fiction or non-fiction. The only rule is the story must be at least one thousand words. Oh lord this was a hard project and there some writer's block but here is my short story.
It was a hot, midwestern, summer night. The air condition hummed a brave tune while the fireflies quietly muddled in the mid June air. Inside, I sat patiently waiting in the cool kitchen, legs crossed, quietly judging. As I observed the woman and the man making dinner and waxing on about their day, they agitated me. They didn’t know that today was the day and it was time for bed. The woman and the man seem to linger and procrastinate in their slumber in a way that taunted me. The one with the long skinny feet aways came too close and squeezed me too tight. It was futile to ask her for help because my obsession had taken over. I had been waiting years for this moment. If I tried to confess my plan to her, she would undoubtedly give me a hug and tell me there was room enough for everyone. She didn’t know the infatuation had taken root. I wasn’t going to stand one more day with HIM.
HE sat high in his tower of glass and glowered down on me. From day one, HIS haste and detest was apparent. HIS body constantly made fluttering moves that jolted something in my amygdala. HIS pursed lips were deplorable and skinny body infuriating. The first day they brought HIM home, they introduced us. It was apparent HE was small but fierce and it was clear HE was a fighter. I knew that as soon was we met, it was a declaration of war.
Before HE arrived, I had been on my own to wander the halls and stare lethargically out the window. There were days when the sunshine drifted and was brilliantly magnified by the glass which magically warmed my belly. I could close my eyes and dream of solitude and quite. Today, it was important to remember the happier times and the days full of sunshine because today was the fight. The plan was in place. It was as detailed as an architectural blueprint hidden deep inside my brain. No one knew I was coming. I didn’t know I was capable of the kind of torture I was about to descend on HIM.
Finally, I heard the woman and the man turn off the television, they slid on their slippers and brushed their teeth. The hour was near but as I turned the corner to their bedroom, I saw they were propped up in their bed eagerly reading their devices. I paced the bedroom hoping they would become annoyed with my actions turn off the light and go to bed. Instead they just sat their staring at me asking me what was wrong in a child like voice. The woman concerned for me in my distressed state offered to rub my back in reassurance. This was embarrassing. I wanted no such affection. I simply wanted her to go to bed so I could execute my diabolical plan. She was such an imbecile of epic proportions. I couldn’t believe I had spent five years of my life with her at my side.
After her consoling, she finally reached out her long, gangly arm and switched off the light. It was time. The moment was now. I didn’t delay and stealthily got to work in the kitchen. I thought about my strategy. The first step was to slide the metal garbage can over to hug the metal bar stool. From there, I could make efforts to climb silently from the garbage can lid to the bar stool chair to the counter top. From the counter top, cereal boxes would need to be knocked down from their perch high on the refrigerator. These boxes would create an extra few steps in height so my long jump could reach the top of the refrigerator. I would need to make a great leap from the cereal boxes to the top of the refrigerator without making a sound. There, at the top of the icebox, the fight would begin.
As I used all my strength to slide the garbage can over to the stool, I made a tiny screeching noise. The man rustled in the other room from his slumber. My heart pounded as I waited for more movement from the man. As I counted the seconds, his enormous snoring continued and I deemed I was safe to continue work. I made my first move. I jumped to top of the garbage can lid. Success! From there it was an easy leap from the bar stool and a graceful slide onto the countertop. However, my foot lost traction and my right limb dangled quickly off the slippery black granite. Panic shot through my body. I was surely going to fall down the cliff past the garbage can and smack on the hardwood floor. The noise would make a shattering sound and this scheme would all be lost. However, I was able to correct my footing and grip my front pads more tightly to stop myself from what would be a great fall. I sat quietly for a second on the cool sparkly granite waiting for my heart to slow from the pounding stress.
Now came the hardest park of the intent, knocking down the cereal boxes without making a sound. At first, I took a hard leap at the boxes punching at them like Mike Tyson. This action lead me to exhaustion and more racket that would wake him or her. This approach wasn’t going to work. After some contemplating, I stood quietly on my back feet and telescoped my arms up high. Delicately with my foot, I gingerly pushed one of the cereal boxes quietly off the refrigerator ledge. It languidly fell to the surface of the counter. Success! My plan was almost complete. As I climbed on top of the cereal box, I hunkered down, crouched low and let out a big sigh as I leapt the largest jump of my whole life. I glided through the air and skidded almost past my destination. It however was a successful vault and as I gathered my bearings, my eyes gazed directly my enemy.
Our peepers fixed together. My ears slicked back and my tail swished. This was the moment in which I had been waiting. It was war. Wasting no time I dove my front paw into the castle of glass and pounded the water making ripples and waves. HE bolted around the vessel but could not escape. Again, I pushed the water violently with my paw and HE thrashed. This action went on for hours and we both grew tired until I shoved too hard on one attempt. The whole glass tub fell over with a crash. Water was everywhere. I heard her bolt out of bed and with the speed of my ancestors, I took one giant leap from the the war zone back down to earth. I composed myself quickly and sat stoically as a picture by the great Egyptians. I waited for the light that she would turn on.
As the light blasted and she staggered out in the kitchen, I calming stood ready to be accused. She just said “Damn it cat. Leave that fish alone!”
The war is still raging on.
Well, let me just say that writing is hard and I clearly have years of practice ahead if I want to be a good storyteller. How about you? How did it feel to try to write a short story? Drop me a line and let me know. Well, I'm going to get back to editing and try to get over my writer's block. See you tomorrow Hemingway!