Today I flicked open my copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland for a prompt, and came up with:
‘see it trying in a helpless sort of way to fly up into a’
which is the tenth line on page 129 of my copy.
What I love most about using literature as a prompt, is that I seem to take up a new style as I try to translate another author’s voice into my own. The ‘thing’ I wrote today (for my literary vocabulary is weak) is not a style I have ever written in before, and I didn’t intend for it to be any style in particular. My brain just sort of decided without telling me, how it was going to work.
As I started, I actually decided about three lines in that I wasn’t going to publish it here today, I thought I’d scrap it once I was done and find a new prompt. Once completed, I reread and decided perhaps it wasn’t so bad after all, so here it is:
Feathery mess, collapse and push in a helpless sort of way. Beat limbs and claw, see it trying to fly up into a sky which it will never meet- limitless as once one thing and then another, sky/space it fades and will not be defined unlike the small bird who never was or will be free.
I drag my feet as a nod of the head, but I can not untangle the mass of paradoxical strings that bind us here.
‘I can not help you,’ I whisper to the wind and break my own heart for the fourth time today and hold up hands that do nothing.
‘I am yours,’ I cry to the Earth and water with salt, and the small life I never knew is ceased in a very small and silent second. All is quiet and mourns and, with one more strike to heart, carries on.
Thanks for reading!