Weekly 5-10 minute writing prompts from feather anchor adages.
14.9.10
WK.02 - EXTRA CREDIT | The room on top of the world. 10 Min. Go!
4 comments:
Anonymous
said...
I can almost see it. It hovers above and within the clouds. It's so bright. I think it might blind me like looking at the sun; I can't look away. It calls to me, beckoning.
Pepper stuck in my tooth, burning my tongue. I must eradicate it.
I must get to the room. I must. The room is full of healing and joy. Peace resides there at the top of the world. Peace that rings through my soul like the sound of a chant. Reverberating and cleansing all that it touches, it silences my mind and lets me rest.
The room at the top of the world is cold and empty. Waiting for me to fill it with the things that will matter. Only, it will have to wait a very long time. Because there are too many things that matter and I can't pick them all, I can't find them all and I can't choose the few that will fit in the room at the top of the world. I want to fill the room like Noah filled the ark. But he forgot the unicorns and the world is sadder because of it. I don't want to be Noah. I don't want to make the world sadder because I forgot the unicorns. I want the room at the top of the world to be fill with the prismatic light of the rainbow that hides just outside of my vision in the clouds. The Room at the top of the world will wait a while longer.
The room at the top of the world is upside down, like the people I dig a hole to China to visit. Gravity has failed, the globe no longer spins and bodies and pets and anything not tied down floats off into space. The upside down room must be a station, the departure dock for all tomorrows, maybe the track to visit a yesterday. Time has gone away, now is the only clock in the room, and gender seems to be blurring, faces melting and reforming as I grow drowsy watching. Yet one emotion, one single vision is encamped on my inner eye, the one I trust, this eye attached to the eternal ear says the room at the top of the world is safe. Death in the room is not possible. Suffering has lost its sting and hate sends the populace into peals of laughter. I'm laughing so hard my lungs are weary, but once gravity is gone not much else matters. A laughing poodle passes me on the right or is it my left. A yellow cat follows.
We threw it down a well. She said she didnt want it anymore anyway and I couldnt hold it alone. It was the love we felt for each other. After that, when I looked up into the sky I saw a black ball in the place where God had been. It was a black ball as big as the sun. It was like an alien planet that had moved into earths orbit. It ran with puss and sores. There were running black rivers there and walls and pointed towers. Faces popped out here and there and the faces were screaming obsence things, they were twisted into masks of anguish. The ball followed me wherever I went. Then one day it entered me. It didnt go into my heart but got down inside my belly where it grew hard like a bowling ball. I fed it my grief over our breakup and the thought of her being with other men. My belly hurt as I lay in the dark looking up at the ceiling. Then the ball began to leak. It ran with a black fluid that was like a goo or an ooze. It was viscous and sticky and my feet got caught up in it. I felt like I was a fly caught on a strip of black fly paper. "When oh when will this end?" I thought, not seeing any way out. Not seeing any way to fix things or make the bad things go away. "The whole world is broken", I thought. I began to make drawings and the black ball appeared in them. Again and again I did drawings that contained the black ball, the black sun, and the black ooze. The drawings began to sell. People said of the drawings that they were dark but good and real. They said I was digging deep into something that they sometimes also felt. I realized that almost everyone had been hurt and that the world was in pain, that we were all suffering. I sold the drawings and was happy to have some money, but I always wished that the black ball would never have come, that I could have drawn sunflowers instead or maybe butterflies or birds on a fence. Someday maybe the black ball will turn into a giant sunflower and the seeds will pop open and out will come the most beautiful butterflies and they will cover the world and everyone will dance under the blue skies and pink clouds. Wouldnt that be nice? I wonder if those drawings would sell?
4 comments:
I can almost see it. It hovers above and within the clouds. It's so bright. I think it might blind me like looking at the sun; I can't look away. It calls to me, beckoning.
Pepper stuck in my tooth, burning my tongue. I must eradicate it.
I must get to the room. I must. The room is full of healing and joy. Peace resides there at the top of the world. Peace that rings through my soul like the sound of a chant. Reverberating and cleansing all that it touches, it silences my mind and lets me rest.
The room at the top of the world is cold and empty. Waiting for me to fill it with the things that will matter. Only, it will have to wait a very long time. Because there are too many things that matter and I can't pick them all, I can't find them all and I can't choose the few that will fit in the room at the top of the world.
I want to fill the room like Noah filled the ark. But he forgot the unicorns and the world is sadder because of it. I don't want to be Noah. I don't want to make the world sadder because I forgot the unicorns.
I want the room at the top of the world to be fill with the prismatic light of the rainbow that hides just outside of my vision in the clouds.
The Room at the top of the world will wait a while longer.
The room at the top of the world is upside down, like the people I dig a hole to China to visit. Gravity has failed, the globe no longer spins and bodies and pets and anything not tied down floats off into space. The upside down room must be a station, the departure dock for all tomorrows, maybe the track to visit a yesterday. Time has gone away, now is the only clock in the room, and gender seems to be blurring, faces melting and reforming as I grow drowsy watching. Yet one emotion, one single vision is encamped on my inner eye, the one I trust, this eye attached to the eternal ear says the room at the top of the world is safe. Death in the room is not possible. Suffering has lost its sting and hate sends the populace into peals of laughter. I'm laughing so hard my lungs are weary, but once gravity is gone not much else matters. A laughing poodle passes me on the right or is it my left. A yellow cat follows.
We threw it down a well. She said she didnt want it anymore anyway and I couldnt hold it alone. It was the love we felt for each other. After that, when I looked up into the sky I saw a black ball in the place where God had been. It was a black ball as big as the sun. It was like an alien planet that had moved into earths orbit. It ran with puss and sores. There were running black rivers there and walls and pointed towers. Faces popped out here and there and the faces were screaming obsence things, they were twisted into masks of anguish. The ball followed me wherever I went. Then one day it entered me. It didnt go into my heart but got down inside my belly where it grew hard like a bowling ball. I fed it my grief over our breakup and the thought of her being with other men. My belly hurt as I lay in the dark looking up at the ceiling. Then the ball began to leak. It ran with a black fluid that was like a goo or an ooze. It was viscous and sticky and my feet got caught up in it. I felt like I was a fly caught on a strip of black fly paper. "When oh when will this end?" I thought, not seeing any way out. Not seeing any way to fix things or make the bad things go away. "The whole world is broken", I thought. I began to make drawings and the black ball appeared in them. Again and again I did drawings that contained the black ball, the black sun, and the black ooze. The drawings began to sell. People said of the drawings that they were dark but good and real. They said I was digging deep into something that they sometimes also felt. I realized that almost everyone had been hurt and that the world was in pain, that we were all suffering. I sold the drawings and was happy to have some money, but I always wished that the black ball would never have come, that I could have drawn sunflowers instead or maybe butterflies or birds on a fence. Someday maybe the black ball will turn into a giant sunflower and the seeds will pop open and out will come the most beautiful butterflies and they will cover the world and everyone will dance under the blue skies and pink clouds. Wouldnt that be nice? I wonder if those drawings would sell?
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