Common Ground

They all sat in their own space, elbow to elbow, in silence and anticipation. They had studied long and hard to prepare for a day such as today. But within their separate unseen walls they were isolated by language and culture barriers. Unable to communicate their mix of fear and excitement, they kept their eyes averted, their heads down, each praying to their own, each in a language native to them.

At lunch time there was some movement. Each unpacked their brown bags or vinyl packs. Scents of seasons and liquids penetrated the dull room as they ate in their continued silence. The chewing and slurring and grumbling stomachs seemed louder in the silence now.

As they bags were tossed, they lay their heads in many directions, catching some rest before the work would begin. The breathing was rhythmic and one would think this group was in sync. But their lives were each disconnected from the other, all drawn here for a different reason and or purpose. The dreams they dreamed were their own.

Then the sounds came from above. The roars of the helicopter woke them each. And with precise movement they moved, patterns and routine were evident. The noise became louder as it came closer.

As they hit the ground running, common ground was quickly discovered among this group. A single purpose now…to save lives. The injured were moved out quickly, stretchers on the ground. Each individual now became part of a team, each doing their specific role, creating a function of saving lives.

Communication suddenly opened, not in words, but through eyes and hands. Directions were given, details to problems…with points, grunts, and urgency in their pupils. This went on for hours…and then days. Triumphs were shared with hands held high, smiles across faces; discouraged hugs and hands on shoulders when the goals were not reached.

The days passed, and this journey was over. None shared a name, an address or a phone number. But the memories of this day, the faces and the people were etched in each one’s mind. They were no longer connected with the vision of these days. They walked away from this common ground…back into a world of their own.

The prompt that inspired this piece:
At what point does a person stop being a stranger to you? How do you determine the difference between a new friend and an old enemy? Who, exactly, owns the tree that seems to be growing on the property line between you and your neighbor?

This week's theme is "Common Ground." I'm sure there are all kinds of different ways to interpert that theme, so I'm excited to see what you all come up with.

Linking up with the Lighting Bug..join us, it's fun!

Exposed

Angela and Galit gave us the prompt this week. Write a short fiction or non-fiction piece inspired by any or all of the photo above. Word limit: 400 words

Early morning sunlight prickled the dark space, finding its way through the tiniest of spaces. Tia sat silent on the edge of the bed. The loneliness of morning sat heavy on her shoulders. The smell of coffee slipped from the kitchen and into her consciousness. Single coffee cup sat on the table. No idle chat of weather and politics before work. No kiss on the cheek bidding farewell or to hang onto through the day.

The two year anniversary of loss was approaching, but the freshness of grief still came in waves.

With patterned motion she readies herself and moves into a day of work.

Lesson plans, emails and phone calls to parents fill her morning. Her intern for the quarter comes in with that all-to-eager-to-teach smile he wears. They prepare for the day and exchange plans, ideas and a behavior plan for the student who continues to get everyone’s attention.

At lunch a friend leans over with a whisper

Who’s the guy?

Tia answers simply without deliberation. She finishes up lunch, and continues in movements without much thought or inspiration through her day.

Before he leaves he hands her an envelope of photos taken by his professor, thinking she too may enjoy.

Later when her papers have been recorded and graded, and emails all handled or deleted… she looks at her purse on the chair. She thinks of the drive home, and the empty apartment. The silence of solitude seems to be all that will be waiting. Not ready yet to go home and face her emotion, she opens the photos he shared.

She shuffles through and then on one she stops. She can’t help but stare.

A photo of her…looking at him.

She recognizes that glint in her eye. She remembers the smile on those lips…

She can hear the catching of her own breath.  

Feels the wings of hope just barely fluttering in her heart.

What had she been missing? Walked by, sat with, yet never aware.

Exposed in this photo.

Tomorrow she thought; things might be different. Like slipping into the 3d glasses at the theater, images around her suddenly coming to life. 

No longer hidden behind grief and pain, exposed and awake to the living.

Letter of Complaint

An interesting prompt this week from http://thereddressclub.blogspot.com/ .
 Can be written as non-fiction from your point of view or fiction from your character's point of view. It is to "write a formal complaint letter to your deepest, darkest fear."
I went with a fictional character. I had fun with it, but I don't feel like this really had my writing mojo going!




Thief of Youth
Old Age Street
Ancient City, Old World

RE: COMPLAINT OF UNFAIR TREATMENT

COMPLAITANT v. DEPARTMENT OF OLD AGE

Dear Thief of Youth,

Please allow this letter to serve as my complaint of unfair treatment against a young, vibrant woman against the Department of Old Age. I have contacted your department by prayer and email and have received no response.

My complaint of unfair treatment includes the following:

• I am a 35 year old beautiful woman and I noticed while looking in the mirror I have lines appearing around my mouth. I have moisturized and spent lots of money on specific products since turning 21 and I should not be seeing these signs at such an early age.
• My body shape is changing despite my hours of exercise at the gym and my carefully planned diet for daily eating. I count my calories, fat grams and consistently meet with a dietitian.
• I am noticing when I read material I have to move it closer and closer to my face. I should not have to place glasses on my striking face, not even for reading.
• During my last doctor visit, there were discussions about cholesterol, fish oil, blood pressure and signs to be mindful of for heart disease. These should not be topics of discussion, I am a long way from any sickness of the aged.
• One of my children mentioned the desire to have children...me a grandma? Um, no, I don't think so!
• I had to pluck several gray hairs from my head. If I have to I will dye my hair. However I take pride in my natural beauty, and this goes against the very depths of my soul.

So please allow me to explain this further. I am not getting old, and you have no business messing with my life. I know and have seen what happens next. I will not be old, forgetful and sedentary. I work in a nursing home, I take care of these people. I will not go there, I will not take on this life. I have nightmares about the future you are starting. It is not my time. I will remain young, active and beautiful.
I want you to know I am being represented by counsel in the above referenced matter. After reviewing this letter, please contact my attorney so that appropriate action will be taken.

Sincerely,

Veronica Astound                                                                    April 21, 2011

_________________________

Youth & Associates, LLC

1-800-KEEPUSYOUNG

“Keeping People Alive and Young”