Sorry I haven't posted in a few days, school work has been keeping me busy! This morning when I was reflecting on what to blog about I recalled a writing prompt one of my professors assigned us in a creative writing class. The prompt was to write a flash fiction about color. I'm a fan of color so I was pretty excited. It was very interesting to see different classmates take on how to spin this assignment too. Some went the opposite end of the spectrum than me with absolutely no color. Imagine a world like that! I sure couldn't which was why I wrote instead about color coming to life! I'm including the story that I wrote for class below with a few minor edits, enjoy :D!
Blades
of Grass
Melissa Bergum
Gene blew the fading black hair out
of her face as she taped the last box of her late mother’s living room items
small enough to fit in boxes. She looked
around the gray room, dust particles drifted by in the tiny current of the
house. The furniture, now antique by
some standards, had lost what bright colors it did have. She would take what she could put into her
own house and then sell the rest; she had no siblings to share these things
with. She stood and stretched her aching
back; time seemed to be catching up with her as well.
All of the rooms in the house were
packed but one, the bedroom. For some
reason she felt that room had to be the last, perhaps because it was the most
personal room of her mothers and in packing it up it meant she really was gone,
perhaps not; she hadn’t really thought on it.
She walked past the upholstered furniture and through the varnished
doorframe, the stairs leading to the second floor sat just off to the left of her. She remembered worrying that her mother would
have difficulties climbing those stairs; it even led to a fight between them as
to whether or not her mother should be in assisted living or at least have
someone to care for her. Her mother did
not talk to her for weeks.
Slowly she climbed the creaking
steps one after another; twenty-three steps in all. She tried not to imagine what these steps
must have been like on the days her mother’s arthritis acted up. Her mother was a very stubborn woman though,
refusing to live out the rest of her days in an “elderly daycare” as she called
it.
Her mother’s room was neat and
orderly—as was the rest of her house.
Everything had its particular place and probably was never moved since
the day it was put there thirty some years ago when her parents moved
here. There was a photo album on the
nightstand next to her mother’s bed.
Gene inched towards it, sitting on the bed when she reached it. She grasped the heavier than expected album,
running her fingers over the rough, worn cover.
She opened the album, leafing through it. Each page crinkling as she turned them. The beginning photos were her parent’s
wedding pictures taken years and years ago.
As she continued through there were photos of her parents doing all sorts
of things like barbequing and dancing and as she moved further in there started
to be photos of her mother pregnant with her. She paused upon each one of these pages,
drinking in the pictures of her gone parents. Then there were some baby photos of Gene that
followed not long after the pictures of her pregnant mother. She only glanced at those pictures; she
didn’t remember any of it so it was not as important to her. When she flipped to the next page, however,
she saw one she did remember.
It was a
picture of her standing in front of her parent’s first house. The picture was in black and white, but the
longer she looked at it the more it seemed as if the colors she remembered
painted themselves into it.
Everything back then seemed more
vivid and vibrant to her; she remembered it all as if it were yesterday though,
once she saw that picture. She swore it
was her first memory. The freshly
painted white-picket fence glistened off of the sun like a river that ran
around her parents quaint house. The sun
itself seemed more stunning to her then than it does now. It seemed to her tiny child mind to be more
yellow than her little canary dress or the sunflower house she lived in and the
suns rays were like a warm blanket that wrapped around her. The flowers, dressed in pinks, yellows,
purples, whites, and reds, danced in the slight breeze next to the house. The grass almost glowed green it was so
bright. She remembered bending down and
plucking up a few of those glowing green blades of grass, her black, tightly
wound curls bobbed next to her ears. The
feeling of the grass between her fingers was an odd and new sensation that made
her giggle like all little children do when they experience anything new—no
matter how simple. Even the feeling of
the grass under her was a sensation worth noting, it was spongy and bouncy
under her only recent sure footing.
She sighed to herself as she gazed
at that photo, wishing, or perhaps even yearning, that her current world was as
colorful and lively and simple as it had been all those years ago. She could not help but smile at her folly and
then she carefully closed the photo album and got back to work.
So I realized I haven't spoken about my cats in quite a while which is sad because cats are fun! As I stated before in a previous blog I have two cats: Balthier (Bailey) and Cleo. Bailey is a bit of a special cat. He's got some socialization issues due to being separated from his mom at a very young age (we found him when he was three weeks old). He doesn't quite know how to interact with people or Cleo and his interactions are quite variable. He can be very loving and sweet at times and on his terms, but he also can be aggressive. He is especially so when we have guests over, I'm thinking he gets over-stimulated. The strange thing is he wants to be near people, he hangs out near all of us when guests are over even though he will hiss if anyone approaches him or if he approaches anyone else. His behaviors have improved over the years though.
There is one very adorable thing he does and has done since he was a kitten. Because he was never properly weened as a kitten he suckles on blankets on a daily basis. I did get a video of it, but he's keeping an eye on me because I'm being all suspicious-like a recording him.
Cleo is a super sweetheart and a snugglebug. We adopted her last April. She doesn't put up with her brother's antics though! She definitely defends herself when he's being a bit of a poophead. Cleo is missing several teeth that had to be removed by the vets prior to our adopting her, so her upper lip often gets caught on her bottom teeth and gives her a rather derpy facial expression:
Thanks for stopping in!
Melissa
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