Strangers on my wall

Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!

via Ermila Blog

Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.

I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.

If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.

I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.

Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? I grew up and saw that, year by year, my dreams of meeting them had diminished like smoke. They decided that on one fine spring day they’d haul house and sail off to some unpronounceable place, minus the baby they had brought into the world not only six months prior. I look up at the collage on the wall and amongst the mosiac of memories I saw the only photo of my mother and father. She was cut out from the waist down, he … he was this mysterious handsom-ish rogue. I don’t remotely resemble him. Strangers, both.

Why did they even bother having me? I must have been a sorry mistake. The couple of them had their plans couped by the arrival of a flailing little person. They left me. I could see it in my aunt’s eyes. Uncle Jem avoided any mention of them, him and my dad went way back and so did the hard feelings. I recall the frantic tick in his stubborn jaw and Aunty Em would glance away and proceed the make some remark on the freaking weather, if you can believe it.

There were so many things I am still in the dark about. It’s maddening that I’m not being informed on my very own life. Why are they not being straight with me? They can’t seriously be thinking they’re protecting me, that crap backfired in books and movies so what made them think I’d sit content in ignorance in this sucky reality?

Maybe I should actually try something constructive, an online class or something. I’ll figure it out eventually. Sounds like a plan, blundering about until I find a sustainable and agreeable job that gets me going places.

Pining? Oh, please. Twenty years. It’s been twenty lonely years surrounded with a boatload of cousins, lonely because I knew even then I was unwanted. If I do come across dear ol’ mom and dad – I know that they are alive and still roaming – (my aunt couldn’t properly hide a needle in a perfectly good haystack), I’ll give them a piece of my mind. I wanted out because I didn’t belong here, that this happiness that I was bestowed with wasn’t going to be enough for me. I’m a little selfish and dissatisfied but it’ll get me through. Percy and I weren’t that distant in a way, we’re determined to make the best of our lives.

Pining. Heh. Well, wherever they are now, they could take all their visions of the untraveled road and shove it. I admit that my parents and I share the wanderlust but our similarities must certainly end there. If they couldn’t spare me a bloody postcard I shouldn’t be wasting my time like this in such glorious weather. I’d rather be dancing in the rain.

 

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8 thoughts on “Strangers on my wall

  1. If only some of our full blown efforts were as good as this “half-blown” one.
    I know the feeling of being left behind by life. I’m on the cusp of thirty and some people I knew from school have children nearly starting secondary already. Makes me feel shocking old.

  2. This has the feel of a free write… kind of blundering about until it finds a sustainable plot (can you tell I liked that?). I don’t mean that in a bad way or anything. Sometimes that’s the intent. Your character has a unique and interesting voice, a little edgy and no guarantee he’s going to turn out to be a likeable person, so that’s intriguing and you want to know what he ends up doing. It’s impossible to read “Aunty Em” and not get blown out of Kansas by a tornado, but the Em and Jem thing is cute. Hope the thoughts help!

    1. Oh, I know what you mean and it’s a fact that I was making this up as I go, happily blundering about. Aunty Em was inspired by the movie version of ‘Percy Jackson and the Lightening Thief’ (I was reading the book at the time, Uma Thurman’s character, Medusa, used the name) and Jem, hmmm, I suppose because it rhymed. I hadn’t realized that before but I do believe that their a happy and stable pair, unlike some people.

      What I found interesting, as I was reading what you’ve said, is that you’ve automatically assumed it was a ‘he’ (I think can understand why) when I was writing from a POV from a ‘she’, though a boy does fit better now. That makes me wonder exactly how many stories have I written in this gender-neutral (or ambiguous) manner! I like the not knowing part too, what sort of person he is or will be, the unpredictability is appealing. Thanks a bunch and a half, Anne!

  3. An interesting stream-of-consciousness piece–I liked it. What about the picture prompted you to write it? I guess I’m missing the connection between the photo and the essay. But maybe I’m a bit dense… 😐

    1. Thanks! There’s no obvious connection, really. In his eyes and her posture I see this gentle adoration for his woman and hers for her man, I can see them going places, all over the world. Their young selves making memories to last. They did travel, and it seemed to be too perfect but they really wanted it to be just that. The baby got in the way but they loved each other and basically themselves (I suspect at this point) to be concerned about an infant, she convinces her push over sister to raise her child. Don’t say that, you’re too witty to be dense 😉

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