||[Jun. 24th, 2009|01:52 pm]
The Amazing Capt. of Wonders
Daily Writing Practice:|
Look at an ad cut out of a newspaper and write from a point of view involved with the ad.
I had a 265 dollar paternity test ad entitled:
They say low price because once you've screwed up like this you'll pay anything to set it right.
Then again the 265 dollars is the easy part. The 265 dollars is a simple little stash in my back pocket. The person, the actual saliva, strands of hair, flesh, bones, and DNA is the hard part.
He left me last Tuesday, and ever since Wednesday I've spent each hour of the miserably long day looking for him.
Not him. No, not his whole self, all the parts in accumulation, but perhaps just one of those pieces.
Did he leave the print of a kiss on a once foggy bathroom mirror? Was there a shot glass still sticky from his spit hidden in the unwashed pile of dishes? Underneath the bed I found fragments of ripped clothing.
None were his.
I wondered, eventually, if I even managed to find that lone cigarette bud mashed in the shag carpet, an artifact he used to hold gently between two lips, would they even be able to extract some code of life?
When exactly do the things you've left behind die?
I'm two weeks pregnant and they tell me 'low price'.
Next I had to choose from a short list a character type which we had to flesh out. I of course chose:
A person with an otherworldly quality (think magical realism)
Albert was slowly turning invisible.
The thing that bothered him most, of course, was that he had never, in his wildest dreams, ever wished for this fate. He had never had a particularly dreary moment in which he thought "I wish I was invisible" the way that so many people do. In fact, he felt sorry, in a way, for inadvertently being handed their greatest escape.
Albert had always adored his straight, sturdy nose and deep set eyes. He also hardly minded that the ladies of his youth had never missed an opportunity to giggle girlishly when he passed them a winsome wink.
Now his left eye had completely vanished.
He had his father's wide shoulders and long back, a spine that melded with narrow hips. Once defined muscles were now fading into the ether around him.
His small pinky finger was completely gone, and his ring finger was quickly following.
A golden wedding band could be seen setting on a translucent mist of flesh, cloud-like in nature, and to Albert disturbing as hell.
Then I had to choose from a short list of situations to put Albert in. I chose:
A person trying to get out of town
A placid voice rang across the cavernous lobby. His train would be leaving in seven and a quarter minutes.
In ritualistic movements Albert pulled muddy toned gloves over his knuckles and shamefully made sure a bandaged patch was secure across his eye.
The heavy hat atop his head hid strands of hair that had started to fade, and dense boots kept at bay his growing revelation that a whole foot had ceased to be opaque.
Staggering in a muddled way, the type of step Albert had never taken before, he hobbled across the marble station floor, eyes cast downwards across spiraling tiled patterns.
Then I had to switch to second person and keep somehow with the same story idea.
You were fading from me even before you started becoming invisible.
That's right, you thought I had no idea, but then again you've always been more transparent to me than to anyone else.
You left that cold November morning and all I could think about, before any tears or anger or regret, was how I was utterly unsurprised.
Maybe I'd expected it from you every morning, and every time I'd woken up to your heavy breathing and hot pulse next to my side there was a little tension that built up within me, like the winding of a mechanical trap. One day I knew I'd open my eyes and your place beside me would be silent.
And then would flow that odd relief, that insufferable adrenaline you get from knowing that you were right all along.