Fear the Road, Not the Dreams

[Day 25 of 30]:

I’m still writing.  I almost can’t believe it.  It’s a struggle to sit down, find a prompt, and fill a page with words.  I usually hate the words, but appreciate the stolen moments with my MUSE.  And I’ve learned something.

Nobody sees the world the same way as me.

Not really a huge epiphany at first blush.  But what it means (at least to me) is that there is a point to all this scribbling and typing.  There’s a point to suffering through broken thoughts and story ideas that I can barely get on paper.  Every day I get better at describing the way I see the world.  Every day I get better at understanding how my world is different from yours and from my characters.  Everyday I get just a little bit better at putting those differences on paper.

Today’s writing was hard and worth every moment.  Not because it’s good (my inner critic despises every word) but because it proves that I still believe in my dreams.  I have a place to confront my demons and show them that I’m not impressed.  They still scare the crap out of me though.  Maybe tomorrow, I’ll scare them.

Writer’s Prompt: Write about something that frightens you.

Are you willing to wait?
Are you willing to withhold?
Can you contain your power?
Can you hold on to your dreams?

The world is patient, relaxed while we are tense.

Fuck!  Lara kept screaming.  Without a sound.

We could hear the wind for miles. Nothing but empty roads, street signs, and wind.  The sun was hot, burning a hole in the road.  You could almost feel the paint fading, moment by moment.  And yet, we still waited.

Why are we still here?

The hunger, the waiting, the prey would come one day soon.  Maybe this day.  The birds, black and tired screamed their own cries.  Lara felt kindred spirits drift by, the ghosts of predators past.  Nothing to see, nothing to taste, but the dry dusty wind and our own waiting.

Night, already.  Frozen, crouched, we watched the horizon for streams of light in the darkness.  And there they were.  How many days had we been there?  How many days had we been waiting?  How many days didn’t matter anymore.  The prey was here, the hunt was alive.  We were ready, ready to kill.  We welcomed them.

Screaming again, but not from us, not from the birds, not from the wind.  They were all screaming.  Holding on to the leather seats, to the broken windows, glass shards shredding their palms, watching the tires burn as we ripped them clear of the metal wreckage.  Screaming didn’t matter here. Not to them, not to us.  We didn’t care about the noise or the pain.

We only cared about the hunt.  The agony and ecstasy of playing with your food.  Would the right time ever come.  But our patience is rewarded.  Waiting forever made those last few moments the most precious, the most savored.  Their bodies filled with sweat, fear, anger, and all the sadness of life’s dreams left unfulfilled.

Why they ignored their hopes, we’ll never understand.  Why did they rush for a moment of dull and shiny greed instead of waiting, watching, searching for their real dreams.  Why did they forget what they truly wanted until those last moments, we can’t know.  Now they can never taste release from the waiting.

But we always do.

We dream of tasting.  We dream of the hunt and we are willing to wait.  We’d wait forever to taste our dreams, but we usually don’t have to wait that long.

The scent of them fills our mouth, we gulp their last breath as they exhale it.  Bittersweet and filled with death.  A piece of the world dies in our hands.  Our dreams are fulfilled as theirs die.  This is why we hunt, why we wait.  The kill is nothing.  The blood, the flesh, the bone, is nothing compared to the last breath of life.  So fleeting and yet it sustains us.

Lara and I wait for days, months, maybe years, living off their last breath.  A shining moment of life and death, the circle is complete because of us.  We give balance. We create balance.  Balance finally has meaning in that last breath.  It’s the breath of broken dreams. They realize they’ve been dead since they were born.  Only in that last moment of dying breath do they ever live.  Some even whisper their thanks, or beg for the gift of release that only we can give, Lara and I.  Their shining moment, a whole life lived just to die at our hands.

And then the breath is gone.  The body shudders but there’s nothing left.  The waiting is over, and so is the joy.  Life flutters away faster them it came and we return to the waiting.

The feast is over and we wonder, are you willing to wait?

“You block your dream when you allow your fear to grow bigger than your faith.”   ~Mary Manin Morrissey

Comments, links to your writing prompt results, and lurkers are always welcome.