Distraction and Writing

Noteworthy Writing Prompt #6

"I have your next writing prompt." He said beaming. It seemed as if he was having as much fun handing out these prompts as I was finding stories to go with them. Then he took the REDBIRD strike anywhere matches, lit a match and blew it out in front of me. Then he grinned and walked away, leaving me behind in the puff of smoke to reflect upon what kind of creative story I could come up with this time. 

It was challenging. It took me a while, because all I could come up with were small scenes of everyday people in ordinary life. Not one story, but many came to mind. Because each of our lives is a light... a story... 

I couldn't choose just one, and I couldn't figure out how they all fit together. I was distracted by my own stories as well, the ones I was living out as a working Mom and it was hard to find some time to sit down and write. It took a few days... But, I decided to keep all the short stories together to make a bigger story. Enjoy!

Anuschka

Distraction

By Anuschka de la Court

Strike. Flare. Flame. A match is lit.

A newborn baby cries.

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Her 10-month-old son slept restlessly in her arms. Every now and then a hand would come up out of the blanket and touch her face. He was beautiful, this miracle of life, and he was her son. A gift. She just held on and stared in wonder.

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“Princesses don’t wear underwear!” His two-year-old daughter yelled at him then raced down the hall naked.

“Oh, yes they do!” they were already late for church. His wife was with the baby and it was his job to get the princess ready for church. He was having a tough time, but he couldn’t give in, he was the pastor. His wife and the deacons would not be too pleased with him if he brought a naked girl to church.

“A lesson in modesty for her,” he sighed to himself, “and a lesson in grace for me.”

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“I don’t want to pick up her poop.” She yelled at her sister as they were leaving to go walk the dog, “It’s your turn. I did it the last time!”

“No, you didn’t! I did.” Came the firm retort. “Rock, paper, scissors?” The door slammed behind them, then muffled bickering as they argued down the street.

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“Cancer.” He closed his eyes as he sat in the darkness of his living room. He felt defeated. The tumor had conquered and won over his wife’s fierce spirit. Now, she was gone. His partner, his love was gone.

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“Here’s ten dollars.” She tried to keep her voice calm as she handed these two ladies the last bit of money in her wallet, “so you can continue your conversation at Timmy’s without the distraction of the speaker we all came here to listen to.” She was furious at the ladies disrespect, not only to the teacher, but also for her fellow students. All night these two were on their IPhone's and holding a loud personal conversation at the back of the room while the teacher spoke about distractions keeping us from genuine, heartfelt and sincere relationships in our lives. It was what they most needed to hear; it was what she needed to hear, but she was too distracted by anger right now.

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 “I hate you!” she heard her daughter say. Even in the fog of the alcoholic stupor she recognized the words. It made her feel even worse.

“I can’t do anything right.” She cried out and stumbled into the kitchen. She poured out another glass of wine, of which half fell into a puddle on the floor. Loneliness overwhelmed her.

“Nobody loves me,” all she wanted was to not feel anything. She took a long sip from her glass. She longed for the darkness to overtake her, and pull her into oblivion.

“They won’t miss me anyway.”

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“I love you Mom.” She kissed her 84-year-old mother’s cold cheek. She was pale and frail looking; so different from a few months ago. Strong, witty, compassionate and full of life; this woman lived life to the fullest. Sure, troubles came and went in her lifetime, but she stood above them. Never letting the darkness get the best of her. She was grateful for each day God allowed her to live on this planet and she gave love each to everyone who crossed her path. Now, her eyes were sunken in, her cheeks were pale, and she had lost so much weight that she was just skin and bones underneath the covers. Life was leaving.

“I want to be just like you, Mom. I love you.” were the last words her Mom heard before her beautiful flame went out.

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Burnt out match. Smoke rises.

Our lives are just brief moments in time, snippets of life, flashes of light, some matchsticks longer than others. We are all but temporary flames and we are all extinguished within a heartbeat on this time line into eternity. Distractions make our flames flicker, and our light burns not as brightly as it should. You control your own response to the distractions.

How bright will your flame get before it burns out?

End

Thanks to:
- Rene for his prompts and encouragements