I had a turbulent landing a while ago – almost like a free fall for a few seconds – a woman was crying, the couple next to me were holding each other tightly, and to bring a finality to the pending doom the air hostess began speaking in an urgent, disturbed voice.
I was thinking “So this is what it feels like!” I thought what if this was it? Me alone on a plane, middle of nowhere – that’s it. How long before my family would know? Would they find me? I know it has happened with many, the missing Malaysian airlines being the most recent example, but there is a difference between when it happens on the news and when it happens to you.
I was wondering if I had said a proper goodbye to my husband before leaving in the morning, and calling out to God, since I have heard that if your final thoughts are about God you go to heaven(and I still maintain I’m not overtly religious). I also realized how much I love being alive. I am grateful that I lived to write this, and hopefully there will be more.
This also made me aware of the fact that I haven’t written about my marriage yet, and it has been exactly 7 months today. I got married in December last year and am in the “happily ever after” phase of my life. It has been the most interesting part of my life so far, has made me acutely aware of myself than anything else ever has. My husband stays as far away from books as I cling on to them. The only exception he makes to reading anything except news is my blog. He is practical while I am dreamy; I am thoughtful while he is impulsive. Together, we are making each other better people with every passing day.
I don’t have my wedding picture handy, but this is a picture of us from last weekend.
He walked with nervous anticipation… his hands hanging awkwardly by his sides… his fingers felt like forgotten acquaintance – their movements a vague memory of a subconscious past. He trudged slowly to the farthest room of the house – the place he called his haven amidst madness. Did he still belong? Would he still match up with the sanctity of his refuge? The thought had held him back for weeks. But he had to try, or what was he but another mortal drowning in the sea of life? He had to try… he took a long breath and walked towards the closed door.
One step after another, the door got closer. He held the knob and gave it a twist. It felt like before, but as the tiny dark room showed itself, the hesitation resurfaced. At the centre sat a chair and his violin lay on it, just like he had left it a few months ago, before the accident, before the physiotherapy. He stepped in the room, the door clicked shut behind him. The dwindling light of an impending dusk filtered through the curtains making the shadow of the chair longer, beckoning him.
He held the violin in his hands and sat on the chair, adjusting his spine to its curves. The grip of the violin evoked a flood of memories; his fingers found their purpose again. Holding it in one hand, he strummed a few strings – the awkward spurts of sound brought a smile to his face. Arching his back, he held the violin between his left shoulder and chin and lifted the bow to playfully draw a few strings. The resulting clumsy sound, made him laugh like a child. Nervous, anxious wave of energy ran through him… he had not lost his way after all… It would take a while, but he still belonged… and that’s all that mattered.
This is a tribute to my blog; I am getting back to writing with the same trepidation as my MC.
It feels so good to write something again! It’s like finding my equilibrium in a way no form of meditation ever can.
I bought it from a scrap dealer and we built it together. Steve and I…
Steve, my Stevie… He told me he was ready to come out in the open…
Stevie promised while I stared into his hazel green eyes.
Stevie drove while I dreamed of us together.
Stevie lied while I paid his bills.
I saw him with a woman last night. He looked through me.
I ripped the board we had so lovingly put next to the driver’s seat – more women revealed themselves. Women! Liar.
Liar… LIAR! I know he loves me, the coward.
96 words for Friday Fictioneers this week.
For the uninitiated, in case you are wondering what is going on here, read on. Friday Fictioneers is an excellent forum for people looking to have fun as they learn the nuances of writing. Every Friday a bunch of us write 100 words (no hard rules there) for prompts posted by Rochelle who runs the show.
This week’s photo prompt is provided by Beth Carter. I just love this prompt. I can’t tell enough how much. I had so many ideas looking at it, I will keep thinking about it for a long time!
My story this week is as inspired by the prompt as it is (strangely) by the following song: