Misunderstood

“You feel like home,” I smiled, head on his chest. “Like my bed after a party or a long vacation.”

“So basically, you have fun elsewhere, and come to me when you’re done?”

That wasn’t what I meant.

Trifecta’s prompt for the week:

Plenty of times over the past two and a half years, we’ve given you the beginning of a story and asked for you to complete it.  This time, we are giving you the end, and we are asking you to start it for us.  We want 33 words in addition to and preceding the following:

That wasn’t what I meant.

 

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Untrellissing Myself

Trifecta: Week 105

PLUCK: (transitive verb)

1: to pull or pick off or out

2 a : to remove something (as hairs) from by or as if by plucking

b : rob, fleece

3: to move, remove, or separate forcibly or abruptly

4 a : to pick, pull, or grasp at

b : to play by sounding the strings with the fingers or a pick

Would you believe it if I told you

I know what it’s like to be alone?

That feeling of restlessness,

Confused for boredom, that zone,

If I told you that I know what it is

To not recognize anyone-

To beg them of the past

To reconsider what’s done-

Don’t pluck your child from its perfect life,

Don’t drop it in the middle of the Sahara to fend for itself, for dear life,

If I told you that I’ve cried and bled,

And banged my head,

Walked slower, then faster,

Afraid of coming last or

Gazed down from a height,

Stepping back only after a fight,

An ocean? No.

An ocean carries you, you can float, though

The desert will burn you if you stop, even falter

Sure death if you stop, no end to your wander.

What would you say if I told you

That I’m low on self-esteem,

That your rock is sawdust held together by steam

That I will gladly hold you up

But not until I fall apart

I will burn with a vengeance

Given enough fuel to start

That I sympathize,

But will brook no lies

That I will survive – better days are ahead now

And that just because I’m a little further along that path now

Doesn’t mean I didn’t have to find it first though

Doesn’t mean that you don’t have to find yours first though

So understand, please, that I’m only one person;

That I can’t always be the trellis, that I also need my freedom

To grow and to be

Unfettered and free

And that you’ll be alright if you keep on walking

Don’t look left or right; for a minute stop talking

And just walk.

When you’ve progressed, you’ll know it.

I promise it’ll be worth it.

In Retrospect

Daily Prompt: From the Collection of the Artist

July 24, 2013

It’s the year 2113. A major museum is running an exhibition on life and culture as it was in 2013. You’re asked to write an introduction for the show’s brochure. What will it say?

Photographers, artists, poets: show us RETROSPCTIVE.

Looking back on things

Isn’t always black or white;

No pun intended,

Although it does fit right.

We revisit time

Through  photographs and memories

And relive a revised version of life

With an increase or decrease

Always. It’s never the same:

Either we had everything

The world had to offer

Or we had zero, nil, nothing.

Sepia, in our heads

Can become vivid HD

And the finest-hued memory

House a black and white zombie;

In retrospect, it wasn’t

The end of the world, we say

But only when we have forgotten

How it felt, live, that day.

In retrospect, it was

The happiest time in my life.

No it wasn’t – you just don’t feel, now,

All that pain and strife,

Which was the most that you’d known

Back in those days

And felt as bad as the new limits

Seem to nowadays.

I say “seem”

Because even this is relative. See,

In retrospect,

This won’t be worst you will see.

But I’m not pessimistic:

No, Sir, not me –

I believe what you’ve lost

Is nothing to what you shall see.

Retrospective, Merriam-Webster says,

Can mean looking back on past situations

Or just as easily: an artist’s best work

(Over time) showed in exhibitions.

What does it mean to me?

I think it means this:

Never trust your  altered view of the past –

Alternatives exist.

A Funny Legacy

 

Daily Prompt: Ha Ha Ha

June 21, 2013

Tell us a joke! Knock-knock joke, long story with a unexpected punchline, great zinger — all jokes are welcome!

[http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/06/21/daily-prompt-funny/]

Once upon a time there was a funny old man who told a joke a day to anyone who was willing to listen. Some days he told knock knock jokes, other days he narrated long stories with unexpected punchlines. Once in a while, he’d drop great zingers. The old man had no family, and the townspeople all knew him as an eccentric old man, but a little mad.

Finally one day, the old man died. The doctor was summoned. Upon examination, he found that the old man had been clutching a piece of paper in his hand, bearing what seemed to be a riddle.

“At the end of the last road

If a man his knees showed

To the ants scurrying merrily

Then find would he my legacy…”

the doctor read out.

Immediately the man gathered there out of curiosity hushed the doctor and began debating excitedly as to the nature of the riddle, and the supposed treasure, running out to spread the word and get a head start.

Overnight, the man became the most loved man of the town, people declaring their undying affection and swearing up and down that they’d find it because of the “special connection” they’d had with him.

“I remember when he told me the joke about the badger…,” they used to begin to reminisce.

Or, “I did my share of kindnesses to the poor fellow. He would love it when I lent him an ear to share those wonderful little jokes of his…”

Or, better still, “I shall cherish the jokes he told me. Poor man, he was like a grandfather to me. I’m convinced he hid his answer in the jokes he told me.”

For weeks after, many of the townsfolk were found trying their luck, ruminating over the many jokes the man had told, running to the town borders and hitching up their trousers near anthills, until the grounds became a common place for relaxation and communal merriment. Dances were held there, and parties and picnics as well.

A year later, at the funeral of another of the town members, a mourner happened to come across the old man’s grave. Remembering all the attempts they had made to find his treasure, the boy gave a wry smile and read the epitaph.

At the end of the last road

If a man his knees showed,

To the ants scurrying merrily

Then find would he my legacy.

A frown maybe, annoyance untold,

from greed to find another’s gold.

But he’ll laugh finally to see my legacy

Was the unity gained in comedy.

His World

The First Thing
 
Write out a person’s day in terms of the first things he or she does. An example is provided below:
The first thing she did each day was stretch her toes over the edge of her mattress. 
The first thing she saw was her reflection in the pink vanity she’d gotten when her career aspiration was “princess.”
The first thing she ate each morning was an English muffin, pooled with melted butter.
The first thing she put on was her silver locket.

The first thing he did on waking up was to give that baby dinosaur screech-grunt, stretching as if to make his 6’ 6’1”.

The first thing he wore was his gleaming wristwatch, a reminder of paternity and duty.

The first thing he did after leaving his room was to wake his kindergartner up with a kiss on the forehead, reminding him of happiness.

The first thing he ate was a bowl of Lucky Charms, an unshakable habit since age six.

The first thing he saw when he left the house was the world; and when he came home: his world.

Link to my story on Figment:

http://figment.com/books/647890-His-World

A Piece of My Childhood

Daily Post: Bittersweet Memories

You receive a gift that is bittersweet and makes you nostalgic. What is it?

Photographers, show us GIFT.

I felt my hands get heavier as she placed my surprise gift in it. It wasn’t for my birthday, and it wasn’t Christmas either….she just told me she’d found something that had reminded her of me, so she’d picked it up while on the road, at some dusty stop somewhere.

“Can I open them now?” I asked, slightly impatient and irritated, more from fear of disappointing her by my reaction than anything else.

“Sure,” she replied. I could hear her smiling through her words.

I opened my eyes slowly, and looked down at my cupped palms – it was a Nintendo 64 Donkey Kong game cartridge. It was several seconds before I could shake my gaze away; a shiver ran down my spine as I looked her in the eye and tried to make her understand what was going through me, because, for once, I had no words.

My mind flashed back to the days my friends and I used to play Donkey Kong on the Nintendo 64 gaming console. I was eight or nine years old, at most, and Donkey Kong used to feature heavily in our after-school get-togethers. It reminded me of a time of happiness in my life, a time I wished I had gradually grown out of, instead of being plucked from in the sort of rude awakening life tends to dole out at one point or another. The days after that had been difficult to get through – hours and days and weeks and months and years of loneliness and tear-stained pillows, bad grades and self-doubt. It was only much later that I’d managed to get it together again and grow strong enough to go out and get the things I knew were waiting for me – one of them being her.

I jerked an arm around her and pulled her close in a one-armed hug, not letting go of that piece of my childhood, and buried my head in the crook of her neck. She put her arms around me then, and I knew she was smiling that serene smile of hers. She’d understood.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/05/21/daily-prompt-bittersweet/

To New Beginnings

The title of my blog, “Wind and Laughter”, is what makes me feel most alive – what makes me me. So I went looking for the perfect place to write an alive-y post, and landed up sitting at my dining table – right smack dab in the middle of the house. (and then wondered for a moment whether that has a deeper meaning, that I feel alive only in the middle of things. Seems highly likely.) Anyway, I wanted this über-happy first post to sort of set this really happy keynote for my blog. So, cliché as it may seem, I settled for writing about beginnings.

I love to write, but, for several years now, I’ve settled for just knowing the fact that I can write. Never really found an outlet. So one day, I was just talking about writing with a friend (who also writes), and we made a sort of pact – each of us would write a blog for atleast the next semester, and, at the end, we would give each friend about 30 different blogs from which to pick out our own. So, me being typically me, I opened an account on tumblr, figment and wordpress…in the space of about a week. Started using the other two actually, then got sidetracked reblogging stuff. Yeah….so anyway, then I decided wordpress was where I’d actually write write, so now here I am. The actual beginning. Of this chapter at least.

Lemony Snicket’s “The Bad Beginning” keeps running through my head relentlessly as I write this (some things just demand to be written down), so I will, to use the phrase, pen one of his quotes down.

“Strange as it may seem, I still hope for the best, even though the best, like an interesting piece of mail, so rarely arrives, and even when it does it can be lost so easily.” 
― Lemony Snicket, The Beatrice Letters

As I write this, I’m smiling to think how much I’ve changed as a person – almost ten years ago,  I opened a diary my best friend at the time had given me with another of Lemony Snicket’s quotes: “The sad truth is that the truth is sad.” Although maybe I give myself too much credit – time and circumstances are probably to thank for soothing old wounds. And for being kind enough to give me enough good to make me see life with bright eyes again.

I want to feel alive again. I want to feel in control and in charge of my life. I want to be happy and help happiness multiply, as overstated an aim as that may be. But I will try. So here’s to new beginnings and happiness. And to life.