Prep for Writing

The Middle of a Horrible Thought

I have a decision to make.

It will not come lightly.

The decision must come soon.

I must be absolutely sure.

I go through ups and downs. I am tired. I am naive. I am losing thoughts and memory. I float due to my incompetence and ignorance. I am not that lazy. Yet, people who appear dumber, uglier and more displeasing than me walk through life with no problem. Why do I say shallow things? Because the world is tough. The world is a game of survival of the fittest and the world just needs one thing for you to be successful: Sureness.

The word itself seems like a normal word. It is not considered beautiful. It is not considered smart. It is not considered offensive. It is just a word.

I am looking for a brand. A personal brand for myself. A smart person told me that I needed to have a something in my personality that spoke to my actions. I need an organization. I need a goal. It is silly and selfish to just float through life with no impact on the world around you. From what I gather, the world needs me to do something. The world needs me to feel something.

I have broken ties with some of the things I have felt strongly about, because it was not something I was proud about. How can someone be proud of watching movies and TV shows and always forgetting the content? It is also not something to be proud of for yourself. I am looking for my niche.

“No one seems to get me.” “I don’t like other people.” “The world is getting too big for me.” “I am getting left behind.”

All fears.

Another smart person told me that I am too hard on myself. I have always wondered if that was a bad thing. I need to be hard on myself or some things in my life won’t get done. I have felt this way for a long time. I was just born this way.

How can I change this?

By doing. By feeling. By talking. By learning.

I look at my shoes in embarrassment because the answer is always so simple. The environment I am currently in, is just safe. I am learning nothing. I want to learn, but I feel like it’s too late. A brain fog comes over me and rains on my face saying, “You have become a mushy-brained forgetter. Stop it. If you try, you will fail.”  I know this is not true. But I listen to the wet demon.

My mind is split into all the ways that The Bell Jar split that poor girl. The fruit of all my dreams falls and rots at my feet. I just sit and watch.

When I was younger, I was more ferocious in telling myself that I would not end up this way. But years of sadness and indecisiveness have led me here. My one regret was going to school and not fighting for my own decisions hard enough. But I want to be someone with no regrets. This will never happen because I know if I had another chance, the same things might happen.

It is a waste of time to think of the past.

It is a waste of time to write of the past.

And yet, I continue.

 

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Prompt #1: Strangers

Great stories often begin with the arrival of a a stranger. Have the stranger make a grand entrance and then take it from there.

The party started and there was already some disastrous little details that were not taken care of. The women were all wearing the wrong color. They were told to wear black and these particular women instead rebelled and wore every other shade of the spectrum. The men were all told to do the same, but they wore shiny suits of blue, green and gray. The music was a singer who was told to sing Sinatra and instead sang heavy metal lyrics in a 20s style. The food was all a worldwide disasterly array of over-the-top crackers and bland cheeses. The banquet hall was unswept, poorly lit and every chandalier was missing lightbulbs and glass pieces. The people were confused and giggling either over the poor planning or over their own wardrobe rebellion.

As everyone drank the over-iced punch and laughed, the double doors opened with a loud BANG. Everyone looked anxiously to toward the door and there stood an handsome man in a tuxedo and a woman in a long black dress. They stood there a second with a stare that pierced everyone in the room. The people gasped and made way as the couple walked towards the center of the hall. Their shoes made the only sound and it seemed like minutes were hours as they passed all the guilty faces of the guests. The woman was holding a baby which did not move. There in the center of the room, stood a pedestal, covered with red solo cups of the poor red drink. The man in black throws each cup onto the ground and wipes the surface clean of any dirt or dust. The woman in black places the baby onto cold marble delicately. The couple then walk out the doors and lock it shut behind them.

A party goer with a loud yellow dress examines the strange baby. “It’s dead!” She yells. Everyone looks at one another and cheer.

The last babe has died.