Creative writing challenge
Post inspired by The Daily Post’s ‘Weekly Writing Challenge’ – Cliffhanger.
It’s strange when you know that these are your last days on this earth. This will be the last time you see this person or that person, it will be the last time you watch Live at the Apollo on catchup TV and feel the softness of your fluffy rug beneath the (last) wiggling of your toes in childish glee. This will be the last Monday! You think these things, nerves quivering and jolting, a release of unusual toxins float around your blood, not knowing whether never having a Monday ever again is a bad or an exceedingly good thing. And then you think how damn strange it is that you’re dwindling over a rainy Monday and fluffy carpets when this is the moment you’re going to leave this earth. Surely you should be thinking deep, emotional and philosophical thoughts, revelations even! You could leave them behind in a note. You could write your legacy, the last few hand written words you will ever write, a poem. A tragical love poem of a tragic beautiful girl who tragically kills herself in some Shakespearean-eat-your-heart-out way. Is that irony in your words of wisdom? And then you think, what were the last words you spoke aloud, let alone wrote? All these things… The circles of frustrating thoughts begin. You become restless and angry at your uncultured, unphilosophical and unmeaningful self because you cannot stop thinking about bloody Mondays.
To distract yourself you try to appreciate little things in life that you’ve read in novels before. The slow and gradual droplet from a leaf, falling softly to the ground. Although this made up memory is marred by the parallel of your falling, lifeless body, down down you go…
Birds that fly and soar! Change the subject, fast. But then you remember you’re scared of birds, they haunt your past and mock you with those beady eyes and snapping beaks. Birds of flight can’t save you now.
And then at last, the day is drawing in. Relieved that you don’t have to feign more goodbyes to things you hate, your body steps into the dark, you’re treading now your fate.
Darkness swirls around the path, wind uplifts your hair. You cannot see a fucking thing, but your heart’s corrupt with despair. It beats the way quite steadily, guiding you along the path. You know the dwindling bumps and stalks, the stumps of trees assure you’re going the right way. No time for thinking anymore, you’re focussed on your decay. The sky above is as black as night, hot specs of ash churn in the roaring clouds of grey. You can only think ‘typical, that the weather’s like this on my chosen day.’
You fumble, falling in the dark, the winds forces getting strong. You know you’re near, you can hear the sound of waves coming and crashing slow. You picture your body, flung around into rocks and blown, a paper doll shot through like arrows. Your body like lace and strung about the place, the almighty sight, no turning back! But you stand on the edge with fright.
Clinging to a nearby tree, you start to review your life. Amidst the fog there were some good bits, why now do they come clear?! Your toes are crumbling at the rocks and you look to face your fear. Blue and dark and swirling bubbles, hammering at the rock. Playful splashes fall about your shoes and sometimes hits your nose. This is it, you think, one hand on the tree. One hand there just in case…
Then you let go, throw your head back, thunder strikes down before your face! Arms stretched, welcoming wide. Your lip tremendous trembling, pangs of doubt gurgle in your mouth. “God please, if you can hear me now”, you beg with all your strength. The only prayer you’ve ever said is whipped and scolded by the wind, “decide what to do. Do I fall or turn around?… I’m leaving it up to you.”