My good friend Melissa and I spent Tuesday evenings walking and talking for a period of time. During those many months, we shared many things including our desire to write more. For a while, we exchanged lists of words with the instruction of creating something from them. I share below the result of one of those writing prompts. The words in orange were Melissa's list.
The Sturgeon Moon
(from Melissa’s 20 words)
The sturgeon moon followed me as I walked, illuminating my path and tossing a passing glance at the insane asylum. It had shone red through the heavy August air as it rose from the horizon. The ground was slightly wet from a brief rain, and I tried not to lose my footing on the acorns strewn at my feet. I was in a hurry.
The media would soon spotlight the confusion at the Art Deco facility that had been my home for seven long months. Seven months. Three days. And 47 minutes. The weight of that experience had left me lethargic. Yet I knew it was time to get out, to travel to sanity, to address the rivalry that landed me in this place.
It began before the car chase. He had taken what was mine. Not just this, but he had systematically violated my privacy and stolen my identity. He knew the slightest details of my character – that my favorite gift was a nosegay of lilies, that I played air guitar to the Blues, that my favorite movie was Hitchcock’s thriller The Birds, and that I had a stash of money that I had earned through my preaching and was too numerous for me to spend. Ultimately that was what he was after. I was at the zenith of my powers. I had prepared to reveal the truth and eliminate the fear of the unknown. I was taken in by his hopes. I was seduced by his glances. And I had given in to the temptations.
It was not immediately apparent, but I soon realized his truth. He had methodically taken on all that was mine, transferred my being to his. My success was now his. My money was now his. My followers were now his. My enlightenment was now his. I had nothing left. Nothing but anger and a great deal of hostility.
I had explored the truth. I had derived the answers. I possessed the knowledge and had begun to share it and change lives. He couldn’t just take it from me. He couldn’t become the evangelist. Those were not the acts of the conscious. He displayed no greater awareness or compassion. And at the core, his actions were against any decent code of conduct.
I walked with greater urgency, fueled by thoughts of avenging him. He would pay. Pay for my fall from grace. Compensate for the time I spent in a place that knows no colors other than white and grey. There would be retribution.
I planned my strategy as I walked. I thought I heard birds but realized my mistake. It was the sound of angels. They guided me, the light propelled me, and the giant orb protected me from on high. I would reach the highway soon. Hitching a ride wouldn’t be too hard unless the news had broken. I had no money but knew that the wealth of my divine gifts would more than satisfy my needs. And, I had the power to take back what was mine, to proclaim my innocence, to divulge and expose the evil in our midst. The time was now. My lethargy faded behind me as my energy propelled me forward to paradise.
