An American Day

Rustling young trees that line the street left puddles of shadows on the sidewalk that dance over the feet of all the fast paced, be-here-now pedestrians. I watch them in slow motion, feeling the lightness of my weightless shoulders, as I spill my hours doing absolutely nothing and going absolutely nowhere. I whittle away the earned time off sitting casually on a bench chained to a tree outside my too-small, too-expensive guest house behind a $16 million dollar cell block. I’m sorry, by cell block I meant junior executive mansion, the kind with rosebush trellises and bay windows that only looked out to other mansions built on Blackberrys and cocaine. This is the kind of city that only high-quality drug dealers and overpaid actors can own houses, at any rate. But enough about them; I took my first day off as soon as the 90 day evaluation period was over and here I am, doing absolutely nothing but enjoying not being at work. Well, I suppose I’m dreading going back to the block tomorrow. A man wearing black slacks and a button down white shirt with short sleeves starts to approach the bench, and he catches my eye warily.

“Do you mind if I sit here?” And I shrug my utter lack of care. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” He offers, not looking at me but leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped.

“It sure is,” I say, inhaling and exhaling deeply, eyes squinting in the sun.

“I took my first day off as soon as professionally possible,” He continues to talk, “there’s nothing better than stopping to smell the roses.” he smiles, and I concur.

(282 words)

Fragile Victory

You broke my heart and it kept on beating, throughout the dark morning and the night, even darker. A soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction. You let go of my hand, and like a knife through the silence, cut the cords that had kept us so firmly bound. You broke my heart and it kept on beating. Sand sifted through my fingers, each fine grain a testament to the death of each new day. A soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction.

You walked down the beach, shadows crawling behind you. You left no footprints in your dusty wake. You broke my heart and it kept on beating. Past midnight, pitch-black, eyelashes ran from my dream, and collected on my pillow like sad, fallen stars. A soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction.

As the dream ended, the sun rose, and your voice finally spoke to me: Life has never been about love, and that’s why I’m leaving.

You broke my heart and it kept on beating a soft, undetectable rhythm of destruction.

(word count: 168)

Day 7: Villanelle

128: Villanelle. Write a very short story on the model of a villanelle, which is a nineteen-line poem of five three-line stanzas, plus a four-line stanza at the end. The first and third lines of the first stanza alternate as the last lines of the next four stanzas. Then, in the final four-line stanza, those same first and third lines of the story become the last two lines of the poem, in order. ABC DEA FGC HIA JKC LMAC. For the purposes of this exercise, your "lines" may be full sentences or not. If you chose not to use a full sentence, make sure this incomplete sentence will be completed by several different concluding phrases without harming meaning too much. It might be best to write this first of all in the form of a poem. After you've set it up, then turn it into prose. 250 words.