I just happened to notice the Weekly Writing Challenge for this week while scrolling through my news feed and, as a hobby-type writer, I thought why not this could be fun. I love writing excerpt style stories and the image Contemplation seems perfect for that type of thing. Here goes nothing!
The ocean has always been our mysterious neighbor. We can add 50 pounds of scuba gear and kick around reefs or create a miniature reef in our own homes but something about the ocean remains elusive, just out of our grasp. I often come to this spot not far from my home. I like to sit here and allow myself to be absorbed by the push and pull of the waves, pulled away from my austere life and pushed toward a higher awareness of myself. My life has been a hurricane of bad luck and even worse decisions. I have not reached 40 and am divorced and unemployed. My ex-wife has custody of our daughter Kara but she still gets to visit me here and life me up with her innocence and belief in all things magical.
I live…lived with my sister here by the sea. Sometimes she would come out and sit with me, though she never said what she saw in the waves. She must not have found the same solace I do or she would still be here. If I look closely I can spot movement in the pool at the base of the rock I am on. Even now, when I am surrounded by death and loneliness, there is life right at my feet. I don’t have need for any pets when I have the entire ocean at my back door.
I’m angry, though I am afraid to say at whom. I wish I had known what my sister was dealing with. When I was there worrying about all my own problems I wish I had stopped for a moment to ask her how she was doing, how she liked her new job or how her night with friends was. But I didn’t, and I can’t now, so I let the waves pull the anger from me, relieving me of that particular burden.
I look down again and see a brightly colored fish thrashing about on the rock below me. The last wave must have thrown it out of the water. I jump down from my crouched position and my feet splash in the puddle I land in. I don’t have a net or anything so I just cup the thrashing fish as gently as I can in my hands and lower it back into the sea. It darts from my palms but I imagine that it thanks me just before it disappears out of sight.
Not sure what to do next, I sit near where I saved the fish. The water laps at my feet and I close my eyes and imagine that I am the little fish swimming out into the deep ocean toward freedom, and I am at peace.
Well there’s that…this is what happens when I start writing with no clear idea of where it’s going, depressed characters. What do you think? Comment and let me know!