Thursday, September 17, 2015

why we despise wanderlust

It's an assignment at 8:00 a.m.

The character is a 911 operator.
The situation is goes on a honeymoon (dot, dot, dot) Alone.
The prop is a suitcase.

This is called shuffle and write.
We have six minutes.

A light streams through the bay window. A door is open. Sheer white curtains move.
He opens a small suitcase. In it are a few polaroids, a wood box, and a scarf.
He runs one finger across the top. The indention he created. What had happened since then and now makes the corners of his mouth turn down. It was a long road. He sees the note, typed and torn.

Don't take it personally. Never make assumptions.

Her voice is type. Where did she say that came from? He takes a deep breath, turns away from the suitcase, looks out the window. Feels a breeze.

She said he was her hero or did she. Damn memory. Too many notes in what had become some strange code between them.

This is the place. She looks up from the parking lot into rows and columns of doors and windows. Her mind is nervous banter. What the hell is she doing here? Why did she come? Hasn't she learned? Doesn't she know any better? But what if? What if this is all she dreamed? What if it was a nightmare? Everything is everything, she remembers.

She dials her own version of 911.

The phone rings.
He smiles.
Looks down to see type.

I'm here but I'm scared.

Don't take it personally. This is just the honeymoon.

Obviously that took more than six minutes, but hey, I did the assignment. So there.

Today I am grateful for the assignment we would give a child. I am grateful for the fear I felt when I saw it. Six minutes, three things. Let your mind wander until you get too scared. Too fearful. That's when you give up.

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