Tuesday, August 16, 2011

Bluebell Books Short Story Slam -- Week 8

The Bluebell Books Short Story Slam!  Visit the home post here, and join in the fun!






This week the prompt was a photograph...  Darkish, perhaps, or perhaps that's just me projecting my darkish mind.  I was surprised how easy this story came, especially because I almost passed on participating this week -- I had no clue what to write.  Stream of consciousness may not be a bad thing after all ;)  I hope you enjoy!


Turning Back

The road back is the longest of them all.  It’s not a line; not even a circle.  It’s a meandering footpath, rocky and uphill most of the way, only downhill, mostly, when the slippery slope leads further away.  You don’t realize it, at first, when you begin slipping.  Perhaps you’re glad it’s not uphill, perhaps you feel you’re close.  But then you slide faster, you scrape your hands on muddy rocks, and you realize the darkness enveloping is — yes, it’s familiar, but it’s what you’re trying to get away from.  Your fingernails dig for purchase, dirt painfully gathering under them, but there’s no purchase, no stopping.  You just slide.


Why did you walk away?  Why did you need more, more than the sun, the clear sky?  More than the planes of fields that enclosed our world in their openness?  Why did you not feel the freedom of the wind, of the rippling prairie grass?  Did you look back, as you walked away?  I didn’t see you turn, but perhaps you did.
It took you years, didn’t it?  Years of running, of not turning back, before you even wanted to.  And I wonder, when you did turn, if what you saw there, what you felt, scared you into running faster.  I wonder, when the yearning began, if you pummeled it into silence out of hatred or out of fear for what that meant.
When the pulling started, when it kept you awake, when it made you absent to the fake world you’d built around yourself, did you fear it?  Or did you give in, in bits and pieces, perhaps indulging first in simple memories that couldn’t threaten in their careful little boxes?  Perhaps you remembered cookie trays coming out of the oven.  Perhaps you remembered a teddy bear, a stuffed giraffe.  You opened their little boxes carefully, daintily, not allowing them to spill.  Spilling is incontainable.  Spilling is messy.
But the boxes must have spilled; other memories must have come.  You stayed away from music; I know exactly which music you stayed away from.  But you can’t keep music away forever.  Music filters in, like the wind through cracks in even the tightest window.
So you come, then.  Down the winding path, down the slope that wasn’t slippery, finally, and your feet go faster in spite of yourself.  You don’t want to go fast, because all of a sudden you’re not sure anymore.  Is this it?  Nothing is the same, and everything is.  Everything is the same, but you’re not.  
You found your way back.  But…  Now you’re remembering, aren’t you, why the sun wasn’t enough, why the clear sky couldn’t hold you, why the open fields enclosing felt so tight.  And now it begins again, the walking.  But now, after here, you have nowhere to go back to.
There is no coming home.

18 comments :

  1. That first paragraph is an absolute masterpiece.

    ReplyDelete
  2. There is beauty in every word you shared. This first line though, "The road back is the longest of them all" is a masterpiece, and set the tone for the entire piece. Beautiful!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Thank you, Damyanti and John... You're much kinder than I have reason to expect. You've made my day -- ok, my month, haha! I'm so glad you liked this little piece, and I hope to see you back here for another visit sometime soon :)

    ReplyDelete
  4. this is brilliant. And cutting. No, you can never go back.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Nicely written stream of conciousness...

    I like the following words... Sounds sad but oftentimes they are true... Especially for me; it sounds so true for me...

    Everything is the same, but you’re not.

    But now, after here, you have nowhere to go back to.
    There is no coming home.

    ReplyDelete
  6. It's funny how we are in such a rush to leave home. After we've spent years on the run, we're eager to return only to find the home we once knew no longer exists.

    It takes guts to share like this. Thanks for being so vulnerable with us.

    ReplyDelete
  7. Thank you all for stopping by... Glad I was able to reach out to you, and it feels so good to have you reach back :) Yes, going back home is, sometimes I think, nothing but a chimera. Perhaps the road back isn't just long... Maybe it doesn't even exist. It's only forward, isn't it? No "reverse" available. *sigh*

    ReplyDelete
  8. WOW! I tried posting and it seems I lost my post. I really enjoyed this read. It really resonated with me. Its funny how time changes us and when we try to go back its not the same,
    Blessings

    ReplyDelete
  9. This is wonderful. You've captured that sense of never being able to go back. I've experienced this. It was painful that first trip. I'll be going again soon, but expectations are not so high as they were that first time. Stirring writing! Well done!

    My week 8 story: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/08/18/amber-waves-of-grain/

    ReplyDelete
  10. love it,

    sometimes, follow your pen is great.
    beautiful and deep story.

    ReplyDelete
  11. it takes years of wonders, experiences, and strength to become smart and lively, loved your take.

    well done.

    ReplyDelete
  12. Thank you all! Your comments have made my day -- ok, my week :) I'm so glad you liked it. There really is nothing, is there, like sharing snippets like these with the cyber-vacuum and then, unexpectedly, you connect with a soul... Thank you for the visit, and I hope you'll come back often!

    ReplyDelete
  13. This is truly powerful ... and poignant ! Deep and thought-provoking all at the same time ... So many layers ... evokes so many memories ... :)

    ReplyDelete
  14. Thank you, Mish! I'm glad you liked it. This is a piece I'll certainly explore in a longer version, maybe insert something like it into my current WIP. Cello Strings, I'm so grateful for your visit -- "elegant" is probably one of the nicest accolades my work has ever received. I'm so glad you thought so.

    Thanks for stopping by!

    ReplyDelete
  15. A great read.
    So much poignancy - and a great last line, "There is no coming home'"
    Time dulls our brain, we are often lulled into thinking that they were 'the good old days'

    ReplyDelete
  16. Quite extraordinary. You've captured so much emotion, so much humanity in so few paragraphs!

    ReplyDelete
  17. Thank you, MJShorts and e.a.s., for the visit! I'm glad you enjoyed this piece, and I look forward to seeing you back here often :) A lovely beginning of the week for you all!

    ReplyDelete

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...