A Bad Habit is not bad if you believe it is good.
Yep, short and cheap...but it's an update. Being that my sinus infection is at the point where it feels like my head's in a vice, this is about all you're gonna get. Except...I did write this very, very short (hence, "microfiction") story recently, and figured I may as well toss it up here in hopes of feedback. Oh, and let me also warn that it is very rough, and likely sucks, and was written possibly while under the influence of alcohol, and all that other stuff we writers do to premptively guard against the slings and arrows of just criticism.
A Paradox of 20s
<>She is a child and an adult.
Running around the room, stunning in but yoga pants and a ratty t-shirt, playing with her dog, she is the echo of the little girl she was. A 7-year-old playing with this great bundle of fur brought home by Daddy, living proof that such an ungainly word as “squeal” is all that can approximate the noises coming from her—a cocktail of giggle, laugh, and that little gasping shriek most often made in the midst of tickling, shaken, not stirred, garnished with lemon, and served in an appletini glass. A 7-year-old in the body of an adult. For a time, however brief it is, all the anguish, the punishment, the pain of the accumulated years is forgotten.
<>
Not two weeks before she was an adult, an unwitting clairvoyant hinting to me the future. We were enjoying Mexican food, con cervezas y tequila—because that’s something adults do, and semi-palpable in the air was the anticipation of something else adults do—when a small child jumped away from its mother. In an instant she was there to catch the child, protect it, comfort it until Mom got there. From twentysomething to mother in a sip of beer.
She is an adult and a child.
No comments:
Post a Comment