Titled: Shaving To Be a Man

I had to write a 300-600 word, single sentence, short story for my class, Sentence Strategies.  I decided to write about the first time I shaved, and what it was like for me as a kid.  I didn't write this because I've been thinking about it a lot or anything, but simply because it stands in my memory very strongly.  It is something I draw strength from now, rather that weakness or shame, which I might have before, when I was much younger.

This is a rough draft, as I've not edited it, but I really want to share it.  So, here it is:

To Climb

I'm tired.  My fingers ache with each contraction.  My eyelids are heavy.  The fingers are swollen, the tips are blistered, filled with water.  I'm waiting for the reward of callouses.

Ahh, climbing.  How I've missed you.

Death's Haze

What do you say to someone that has seen Death?

Death puts a blackness...no a grayness over everything.  Or, maybe, Picasso had it right and Death puts a blue haze over everything?

Death.  Death....death.....
Hmm.  Who's to say it's a bad thing?  You don't know shit about Death, in reality.  Neither do I.

We all have our beliefs, I mine, you yours, them theirs.  If a little girl dies and she isn't a Christian, does she go to Hell, or Paradise?  If I die am I reborn or do I go to Heaven?  I have my opinion.  What matters though are the ones left behind, what they think.  They need that comfort. 

When you see something tragic, it changes your perspective.

Normally, perspective changes are gradual, things that worm their way in.

Tragedy is like a damn nail gun.

The shift in perspective doesn't have to be large, it doesn't have to be small.  All that matters it that you recognize when their is a loss in the world, when we have been forbidden the gift of a life.  That is tragedy.  That feeling.

Hmm?


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Editing Note on December 2nd, 2011: This is one of my favorite posts to date.