The second week today, and I can already tell the fun – and hard – prompts are starting. I am quite excited about this one because I used to write paragraph-long pages when I was a beginner writer. I had to stop in the end because I’ve had many teachers, better said, all of my teachers, asking me to stop.
I am incredibly excited to get to do it again, and most importantly see what it looks like when it’s done deliberately and with control, not to mention showcasing a little bit of the writing techniques I developed over the years.
Another reason to be excited about this one is the prompt itself, and this is only because my mind finally decided to be utterly passionate about any sort of experimental writing, this whole “Weekly Prompts” section has been formulated for exactly that reason, and this week it’s a story about a dream! The land of experimental writing in my opinion.
Just as a reminder, it’s been a week, and memory is tricky, here are the requirements for today’s writing:
o Write the piece as one long sentence;
o Write a scene which slowly becomes a dream;
o 1300 word limit.
Sometimes, the human possessing a body, will force said body to stay awake, for a immensurable amount of time, or simply a few hours, during which, the human will eat, and drink and sometimes go to the toilet, although what one does there shall remain a secret for now, for I do not believe anyone came here for any gruesome and detailed toiled imagery, even if, I have to admit, I am more than happy to please my audience and offer them the best toilet trip, so, please feel free to message, I shall be at my desk, trying not to fall asleep, for that is the challenge for today, you know, trying not to fall asleep, not to feel my head heavily falling from my hands, at least making sure if it falls, it will not hit the wood, for the wood is also heavy and white and it has tiny little speckles of dust, the tinniest, I say, because I can see them floating into the blueish sky, and rolling, ever so slightly, on the pink caterpillar I call the sun, yes, yes, the sun, which in turn cries for its sisters – the stars – and cries, and cries until the Earth is shattered and the earthquakes can be felt on the moon, the white and terrified moon, for it does not understand why the Earth is round and not flat, for if it’s not flat, how does it sit on the table, and if it doesn’t sit on the table, How come my head hit the wood so hard, I’m wondering and then I simply realise that I must have been asleep, dreaming about that ancient times when dinosaurs used to drink tea with the queen, the band, not the person, and you keep asking me what am I talking about, to which I simply say, I dream around, and around, into the high carousel I built in the woods, hiding from the public, on top of the small squirrel which used to hide underneath my desk, when the desk was still the oak tree of old, or maybe walnut, or birch, or one of them fancy tree name I’ve always heard about, but was too busy to remember, especially because I have to remember them twice, you see, one for the parents of my parents, who generously gifted me my mother tongue, the other for the parents of whoever lived where I’m living now, who generously disappeared long before I ever got into the picture, hanging from the windows of the attic, while singing that one song that goes pam, pam, pam, tra, la, la ,la, maybe, but I never cared enough to remember its title, because it’s not a song I usually listen to, given the fact that I am the classical kind of girl, gal, lass, or whatever other English word will satisfy my need of calling myself a lady, because I do think I am one, even if I stay all day in my pyjamas, and I eat one too many chocolates, per hour in a day, and the day is long, and getting longer still, such are the rules dictated by the caterpillar sun, which slowly moves around the deep green leaf, if that exists, or maybe not, for deep is the blue and green is the leaf, and my mind finally says Wake up, it says, while I bring my hand to my forehead to verify if I hit it hard enough for a bump to appear, and one, two, two and a half bumps, or one is just a pimple, a red, and ready to squish one, but I shall, once again, forget about its existence, because of what happened last time, when I squished one of them red ones, and another appeared, an then another, and another, until there were so many of them, they required mailing, and I had to file in the forms for “Face Mailing” confusing the city council which decided to charge me, not only for the legal paperwork required, but also for installing a new garbage system, for where are the pimples supposed to throw away their old and read, or maybe unread letters, to which I simply replied, “If they require a garbage system,” I said, “should I also build a supermarket?” I asked them that, and they ignored me, on account that I’m taking it too far, and I do admit it now, it was too much for a few petty pimples to handle, and after the supermarket follows the cinema and how would I have been able to remove them afterwards, when all had a name, a house and a lovely little family, all up there, on my forehead, and I would have had to slice them off from there with that fancy new pizza cutter I once saw on telly, which reminds me of that one time I was invited to dance for a show, again with an unknown title, for me, not for them, and the dancing show took me in, obviously not knowing I do not know how to dance, wondering after a few minutes, what am I doing with the hob, and the oven , and the chef hat, to which I replied “I shall show you how I dance,” I said, there went the peppers, and the carrots, and that one green thing that’s always hated by children and I do not know why, “Maybe because of the colour,” said a voice behind me, and the voice took me for a dance, and we waltzed, and tangoed, just until I realised the voice was the Devil, so I excused myself, politely, of course, saying that I have to go back to the human world, and he was sad, and cried, and I had to dance again, and again, and yet, by the end of it, I danced with the devil one too many times, because my hands had claws, and my legs had hoofs, golden ones that’s true, but claws and hoof they were, and I had to go to the vet, and imagine his surprise when such a beautiful, smart, modest, lady appears into the surgery with animal parts instead of human parts, and because of that he started laughing and he laughed so much I finally realised he was my father, dressed in the vet from the other town, although, he could have very well dressed as himself, for he was this town’s vet, but who knows what goes around in his mind, that allows him to practice in someone else’s body, personally, I don’t know, and I don’t care, for he is a proper adult, who’s learned from me everything that is good, and maybe everything that it’s bad, but he will, hopefully, never admit it to me, his one and only daughter, silently sitting on the surgery table, waiting for him to remove the animal parts and replace them with fingernails and toes, and feet, until I could finally stand again, to thank him for what he’s done, just before the owls entered through the window, surrounding me, and chanting “We surround you,” so many times, my head started saying the same, but from my side, “The owls of freedom surround me,” I said on repeat, while they were slowly lifting me to the sky, up, up and above the clouds, where they suddenly decided to stop and drop, me, who else, I shall ask, while falling, straight on my desk, making me realise I was once again sleeping, clearly, going against my human desire of staying awake the full day, understanding that coffee does not work, nor should it, I step away from my desk, descending the steep stairs, straight into my bed, where my lovely pets will wish me Good Night!
Final Word Count: 1300
Before I started writing this piece, I wrote on a piece of paper “danced with the devil one too many times,” and “the owl of freedom surround me,” and because I really, really like making hard things harder, I decided I shall try and use them at some point, but not really carrying exactly when, where and how.
I was pleasantly surprised I managed to do it. How things connected in such a way, I do not know, but I guess the mind has an order of its own.
I think the hard part now will be to get back to normal, properly sentenced writing, because I spent almost an hour writing this one, and I think I wired my brain to completely ignore the existence of a period (or full stop for those of you who make sense).
Now, because I believe with all my might in cliff-hangers, albeit I hate them just as much when used against me, here are the randomized requirements for next week:
o Write the piece in the second person;
o Write about the experience of browsing the web;
o 700 words limit.
See you all then, and have a nice week!