A Fruitless Endeavor

I’m SO glad I finally “balled-up” enough to join in with this group, and including this intro, I believe I’m more than maxing the 500-word count allowable for this week’s Write On Edge challenge. 

Please click the link above to learn more about the prompt and the community, and as always, I hope you enjoy…

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Watching him zip up the last of the three bags he’d hastily thought to pack, she became further irritated as he tried to compress its contents – with one shaky knee held hard against the fabric lid – while fiddling with the steel slider which protested loudly as he tugged it along the plastic teeth that were its mate. Timing it to where the entire endeavor appeared to be at its most fruitless, she waited before asking snidely, “So that’s it? You’re leaving then?”

Wha? Oh. Yeah.

“Just like that?”

Yes.

“Just ‘poof,’ and you’re gone?”

For God’s sake, YES! Why?

“She’s not going to be waiting for you, you know.”

She will.

“She won’t.”

She might.

Emboldened by his moment of caution and pause, she leapt forward unmindful into the din of her verbal castration of him, stressing, “Listen. There is nothing waiting for you out there anyway. You know that, right?”

There’s nothing waiting for me here either.

“Oh yeah? What about your career?”

Not for nothing, but I’m fairly certain that they have those where I’m going as well…

“What about the house?”

It’s not in my name anymore – it’s not my house anymore. It’s… it’s not my home.

“And what about me? What about your poor mother?”

Well. I’m sure the ole girl will understand. I’m sure you’ll get it, why I need to do this… Maybe some day.

“Well don’t be so certain of that. And what about the children? What about your children?”

Having finally secured the zipper – now groaning under its newfound charge of keeping all the baggage safely contained within, he sat back for a moment and wiped his haggled brow before almost whispering, and almost to himself, “Yes, there is them. That’s true.”

What…?

“I said that yes, there is that to contend with.”

See? You can’t leave. You need them.

“I do. But don’t you see? I sleep alone every night, while they sleep in the same house as her latest fling. No, they’ve already been taken from me. A long time ago. And besides, they’re almost adults now themselves.”

You can’t leave. I won’t let you. They need you.

“You know what? I’ve always told them that we’d all someday get out of this dump. I just never thought that I’d be the first to make the break. They do need me, but they need me to continue to lead by example. I think I’m doing the right thing here.”

She’s not going to be waiting for you, you know.

“She might.”

She won’t.

Rising on steady legs, he casually pulled the over-stuffed, yet self-contained third bag from the floor, and slung it across his back. Ignoring the still-protesting zipper as he did so, his step matched his smile as he strode enlivened towards the front door and the gate that lay beyond it, while saying much more to himself then to anyone within earshot, “She will.”

•••

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To Sir… With Love.

Copyright -Claire Fuller

Copyright -Claire Fuller

You have nothing?

Yes sir.

Excuse…?

Err, I meant “no sir…” no, sir.

No occupational status?

No sir.

Valid credit implants?

No… sir.

Spousally designated partner?

No.

Biological offspring?

Nonemore.

Adopted…

NO. No sir.

What is your current worth to society, citizen?

Zero, sir.

And to your non-existent family?

Zero.

And yourself?

Well, a great deal, actually sir! You see I…

Excuse…?

Err, I meant “zero sir…” Zero.

You’ll be liquefied at the food distribution workshop, nourishing the citizenry while realizing at least a small profit against your zero value. Is this understood?

No sir.

Excuse…???

Yes sir. I meant… yes, sir.

•••

Written in response to both this week’s Friday Fictioneers and (my first time EVER!) Velvet Verbosity prompts. Please also take the time to check out my “second to last” honest-to-Goshicles blog post (shared with my dear friend, Elena Caravela), located here.

My last (honest-to-Goshicles as well, of course!) post is coming soon.

The Whole Of The Moon

“If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression of something beautiful, but annihilating.”

~ Sylvia Plath

Image courtesy of Elenacaravela

Image courtesy of Elena Caravela

As it turns out, she did have lovers other than me.

Mhmm, but what is that to you?

Well, she’s blaming me for everything, for our demise.

Again, what is that to you?

Also, she’s making people choose between us…

As those types are apt to do anyway. May I ask, what is that to you?

Oh! And she’s inventing in her head a “me” that I never was!

As is her choice. But honestly, what is that to you?

But it’s a lie!

In part, yes. But I’ve still no idea, what is that to You?

I don’t know.

I… I don’t know.

Then let go.

She has made it clear she no longer wishes you to be written into her book, but that hardly means that your story is over. Dear, it’s only now just begun.

In the past you’ve only seen the crescent, as was your choice. But I have always seen the whole of the moon. So write! Write your story with abandon! With glee! With love, and with confidence! Write it with My pen, and with your voice.

I assure you, I’ve seen the end of your tale, and I AM pleased. I am proud of you. The you that you are, and the you that you will become. The you that you already ARE becoming. I take Joy in you, and I Love you.

But what of her?

She has made herself no longer your concern.

Forgive her.

She broke her promise.

As did you. Forgive her.

But it hurts!

Exactly. Forgive her.

I will shelter and Love her as I do you, and as I do your three, and as I do your tribe. The very tribe that surrounds and comforts you. The tribe that beckons you onto your Tomorrow. Listen to them.

OK.

I will.

So, it’s truly over then?

It is.

Please, tell me… will she be OK?

Her story is now hers and Mine alone. And as such Dear, what is that to you?

•••

“Forgive the inexcusable because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.”

~ C.S. Lewis

My thanks to the talented Ms. Elena Caravela for once again allowing me to highjack one of her beautiful works for this post. And my deepest gratitude to my tribe – especially Beth, Marla, Keri, Cyndi, Shari, Stephanie and the Memolis – all of whom daily beckon me on towards Tomorrow while (whether they realize it or not) also keeping close to my heart the promise that He intoned above.

A Cottage for Sale

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Copyright – Björn Rudberg

You’re moving, then?

Yes.

To that house?

Yes.

That house, directly to the right of us?

Yes.

But, you’ve hardly moved, at that point.

Yes.

But the new house is prettier.

And?

And?

Well, “newer” of course.

And that’s enough?

Yes.

That’s enough.

But you loved the old house. It was good to us.

“Good” isn’t new. New’s what counts.

That’s a shame, really.

Believe me or don’t, I couldn’t care less.

You’re implying that old is bad then?

Yes.

No.

It’s just not… well it’s not new, And new’s what counts.

But… I’ll miss you.

OK.

Still, you’re moving, then?

Yes.

•••

Rochelle, I would like to thank you so much for talking me “off the ledge” as to my abandoning Friday Fictioneers, as I do so love it and the writing community that surrounds it. And an extra special thank you to a Fictioneer I’ve been long jealous of, Björn, for providing a phenomenal prompt with which to return!

Somewhere.

One walks free. Another runs – either from or to. And a third is locked rigid, never to walk nor run from where they are, right now, forever.

Here are the 100 Friday Fictioneer words that came to mind when the picture was fully taken in; a draft originally slated for my other, “woe is me,” blog that never saw the light of day. Not until now.

I hope you enjoy.

copyright-renee-heath

Copyright -Renee Heath

the thing that ran away, the thing that you don’t want anymore, the thing that is gone…

is it ok to still weep at its passing?

the thing that is to be, the thing that you desire so badly, the thing that is *just* ‘round that corner…

is it ok to sob over its delay in coming?

the thing that is, the thing that weighs heavily upon you right now, the thing that relentlessly encases you…

is it ok to lament that it’s neither the former nor the latter, but rather just a painful, albeit hoped-filled, bridge between the two?

•••

A special thanks to my dear sister and friend Renee for this weeks photo prompt. I’d tell you to go and check out her site, but I am certain that all of you already do…

Little Things

There has been something I’ve been struggling with about telling you. It’s a subject that those of you who have been following along for a while now, will know everything about. And those of you who have been following along since around 3/21/13, will not. I was still on the fence about discussing this subject, until The Daily Post begged us today to talk about Little Things.

You see, as a result of the recent life changes that have been tossing me about (again, if you’ve begun following only since late March, you’ll just have ask the person seated next to you what I’m speaking of, because you’ll no longer find any mention of it here), there was one final – and heartbreaking – decision that had to be made.

The children we were tasked with caring for, while their mother got back on her feet, were no longer best served by living in our house. We – I – had to let them go. As was the case before we initially brought them in, I once again asked my kids their opinion, and ensured that we were all first in agreement. The little ones were slated to be reunited with their mom in June anyway, but that in no way made the decision – nor the subsequent call to Child Protective Services – any easier.

I explained the current situation, and broke down slightly, apologizing while saying we were going to have to back out. The case worker was very kind in thanking us for everything we had already done (especially considering there was no kinship involved), and said that she would be happy to try to get the children relocated promptly.

As fate would have it, of all the life tossing going on just now, this solitary item may have turned out to be the one blessing in disguise; as it was determined that instead of placing them anew, the children would simply be reunited with their mom (who is doing well) earlier than anticipated.

So they are gone now, and out of my life. Most likely forever.

After we had packed their lives into the over-sized pickup truck that their mother’s friend trundled into our driveway and had seen them on their way, Ian (my youngest) and I retreated to the house where I, in an extraordinary feat of extreme manhood, fell to the bed weeping. Ian, being just about one of the most empathetic people I know, softly patted my back and in response to my moan of being sorry that I was failing everyone, said simply and calmly, “daddy, you are not failing anyone.”

I hope he’s right. And I hope that these two little things – these two precious and beautiful little things who invaded my life for almost a year, and opened my eyes to a whole different world – will never be overlooked again. Not by their mother nor the system sworn to protect them.

I still don’t know what it was all about – us taking them in, that is – or if it helped in the least that we did. And please don’t tell me blindly that it will all just be worth it in the end. There hasn’t been one soul yet who has been able to make me buy that line. I have a sort of a “Now just what were You thinking?” finger wag list that I’m compiling, and when I do meet God, “whatever became of these two little things” will be one of the questions pretty damned high up on that list.

Yamil and Delilah, I know you’ll never see this. But I want you to know that I hope you have fond memories of your time with us. I hope that God continues to bless you on your journey, and I hope – I pray – that whatever it was I was supposed to do for you, I did.

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I will miss you Little Things. You crazy, obnoxious, pains-in-the-ass and simply beautiful little things. Please, go in peace.