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Being Human Again
Midweek Pick-Me-Up #6, guest prompt
Every last Wednesday of the month we will share prompts by friends and the readers of Follow The Pen. I have the pleasure to share with you a prompt that John, who I mentor, and I wrote stories to in one of our sessions. John is 15 years old and we meet twice every week to expand on John’s dream to make movies. I used to be John’s teacher in 2018 and 2019 and his writing really left a mark on me. I still remember a story he wrote about the Bone people. It was John who told me about the writing prompt app. Thanks, John!
If you wish to work together with me or to have your child do, please get in touch. And I’m sure John would love to hear from you in the comments!
Guess which story was written by John? (Answer at the bottom.)
He could hear everything, but dared not open his eyes, for his eyes had been closed for many seasons. Trees, grass, and rocks covered his face, dotted like raindrops on a peaceful lake. He lay there, unmoving, mountains and valleys had risen and fallen during his exile. He tried to smile as the last rays of summer light brushed across his face, but he couldn't. He had become encrusted into the mountain or the mountain into him. He would cry and cry, rivers of tears would gush down like a waterfall into the valleys and creaks, for he was lonely. His only friends were the birds and deer that inhabited the mountains around him. The animals would never know someone was there, which made him sad. He drifted off into sleep, hoping to forget his troubles for just a little while.
He dreamt of being human again, running across the very hilltop in which he was imprisoned. He would run his hands through the tall grass, feel the cool breeze on his face, and smell the sweetness of the air. He dreamt of music and dancing and freedom. He would dream every day and night, as he had little to keep his mind occupied. He would lament his crimes but to no avail. His sentence lasted until the end of time, with no opportunity for parole.
He could hear everything, but dared not open his eyes. By the sound of it they were removing the happy memories classifier and now happy and sad would be bundled up together and he would have to do the work of disentanglement himself. He was not sure what he would miss more - the sharp and gay Hurrah! Hurray! Hihi!, or the sound of sad memories which always showed up in the key of D minor and rain.
Next, he heard a scream and he knew it was the scream of A Great Undoing, it came from within and without him and it was painful, but C’est La Vie - collectivism was once again in vogue. They read and recorded some numbers and disabled the collectivism blocker - they could not remove it because the blocker had fused with his spine. They assured him he would not suffer any side-effects, Look on the bright side, they said, you could now belong to death and life and the human race too. A huge relief, indeed, and he made a mental note to sing them praises for their effort.
He could hear everything, but dared not open his eyes, they were now working on his liver and fists where anger lived (full time in the liver, part-time in the fists). He wondered what he would feel after they had removed the anger accelerator, he hoped he could still make a fist, for he liked to wave his fists at children who pulled on his robe when he walked in the street. When will the operation be over, he asked. But they didn't answer, they were busy drilling a hole in the Earth where they would deposit his stomach. He found this curious and he realized they had no intention of returning him back to his normal self.
He was at peace with whatever they did and when they finally ordered him to open his eyes…
Teacher Bogdan in 2019, fun times with the students. Someone on Facebook commented “Bogdan, your father used to be so fit. Get a grip on yourself.” Dear, someone, I can’t remember exactly, but I think my belly is a pillow. Don’t worry…
Which story is John’s? If you guessed #1, you’re quite right!
You have just read the series Midweek Pick-Me-Up. Always on Wednesdays. Always written to a prompt (in bold), in 5 minutes or else the screen goes blurry. An edit here, an edit there, and now it’s yours to share.
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