It’s IndieInk Writing Challenge day once more. It dawned bright this morning, and I suddenly remembered the challenge Michael at Innocents and Accidents, Hints and Allegations issued to me this week. It was, simply, “Eight hundred.”
I pick up my glass. Again. For the eight hundredth time. I finish it quickly and re-fill. The day stretched long and I crave a hard stop. I carry it with me, the glass, because it’s too hard to put it down. I carry it with me, all of it.
Too hard.
“Just stop,” he tells me.
“It’s not that easy.” I say back.
Because somewhere, long ago, before I was born even, it stopped being a choice. There’s genetic wires connecting me to other glass filler-uppers, to those that carried their solace, to grandpas begging grandsons to stop at the corner bar for a shooter. The grandson was 10. He wasn’t saved from the corner bar; his future still sits in front of a smoky mirror, toasting to life.
My dad. Always toasting to life.
It’s irony. Cheering what robs you of clarity and connection and emotion. Life.
“Just stop,” he tells me.
I pick up my glass.
Eight hundred and one.
I loved how you were able to convey so much in such a short piece. 800 speaks for itself. This was very well done!
This was great… I agree with Karla as it relates to how much impact for such a short piece. Really well done!
I so enjoyed all the different ways you used STOP here.
I truly did.
“I carry it with me. All of it”
Love this post.. Thank you.
Ok, it’s already been said, but your story conveyed so much with so little and perfectly evoked the somberness of this situation. Great job.
Well done. Excruciating, but brilliant. I bow humbly. *applauds*
its all true, too.
beautiful work! thoroughly toughing
Writing is powerfull. So much said in a short composition. That is how you use 800.
oh, i get it. i raise my glass to you.
I’ll throw in my kudos.
Open, honest, sometimes painfully raw,
always with your own funky style: oblique/unique.
Lovin’ it!