Month: March 2020

Prompt: Gentle | Word Count: 300 words exactly | Genre: fiction

March 30, 2020

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

—Dylan Thomas

Four weeks into isolation, through a screen positioned next to the bed, he watched his mother fight. She was propped up on pillows, facing the computer. The matriarch’s dark loneliness absorbed her son’s voice as he read aloud the Dylan Thomas’ poem that had become their rallying cry these past dragging weeks. Mother’s battle with sickness had begun long before this virus crept into their realm of the world. Now, though, with her compromised immunity, the battle was a lonely one, and his daily reading with her connected her to family and the world.

He’d set up the computer near her bed three months ago when he’d been in town to bring her home after her final chemotherapy treatment. He wanted her to be able to check her email from bed. The doctor had said her lungs were clear and her recovery looked promising. Then just as she seemed to be returning to a new normality, the order to shelter in place had issued. They were trapped apart in their distant neighborhoods.

She’d been so disheartened that she all but gave up, loneliness overtaking her will to fight. Finding new ways to connect, while staying apart, was so important that he taught her to video chat. He was determined that she would triumph. Three times a day he read aloud to her. In this way, he gently coaxed her recovery forward day by day. In the morning, excerpts from the news. Midday, on his lunch hour he read her the next chapter in a novel. Then at night some poetry, always ending with the words of Dylan Thomas to fortify her resolve through the night.

So far, this virtual connection was working.

Prompt: The 9th Letter | Word Count: 250 words exactly | Genre: fiction 

March 28, 2020

Whether you’re a boomer or a millennial, you’ve doubtlessly been dubbed the “me generation”. A self-absorbed focus earned the moniker. “I” this and “I” that. Me, me, me. But in this time of crisis, those “I’s” are turning resolutely to “we.”

An example? How’s this:

Leaders around the world called for people to “isolate”.

At first, the ninth letter dominates. “I” don’t have to worry, “I’m” young. “I’m” invincible. “I’ll” be ok. Beaches crowded. Restaurants full. Handshakes. Parties.  

The counter: This isn’t about you! This is about everyone else. Well, maybe just a bit about you. But mostly it’s about them. It’s about letter twenty-one. 

The result: beaches empty. Aisles vacate. Streets untrafficked. Millennials move home. Boomers once again sandwiched between parents and grown children. 

Instead, you turn to your technology and computers and create a social experience for everyone. 

You gather in virtual zoom rooms with your instruments and strike up the band. Concerts played virtually, together. 

You post YouTube videos of hilariously complex Rube Goldberg contraptions. Entertainment redefined. 

You start a Facebook group offering to help members of your community by locating and delivering the necessities they need. 

You start a chalk drawing on the sidewalk and your neighbors each continue it until the street swims in color. 

Soon it’s clear that spreading alongside the virus is a new sense of community. Even in our separateness, the “I” and the “U” join into we. Togetherness apart is the new world order. 

Prompt: Pitch | Word Count: 200 words exactly | Genre: fiction 

March 26, 2020

Trent looked around the modern lobby of the Gates Foundation. This is my shot to save my business, he thought.

“Mr. Holt? They’re ready,” the efficient receptionist ushered Trent into a conference room.

Bill and Melinda Gates sat at the table. Holy Crap! Steeling his nerves, he nodded a six-foot greeting to his potential benefactors.

“Don’t be nervous,” offered Melinda, “We’re excited to hear your pitch.”

“Thanks. I got the idea from Elon Musk making ventilators. I manufacture costumes in Seattle with three staff who depend on their jobs. Since only essential businesses can continue, I want to turn to making medical masks, but I can’t afford to pay my folks without any revenue. My suppliers can provide materials, but I was hoping for a Foundation grant to assist with payroll, since the masks would be donated. I’ll cover the other costs. I’d need about 150K to run for two months.” 

Bill asked, “Do you have machines and space to employ additional staff?” 

“I can support seven people.”

“Okay, let’s do it. We’ll fund you at 200K per month, throughout the lockdown.”

“Thank you both!”

“Thank you, Mr. Holt for pitching in. We’re all in this together.”

Prompt: Shattered | Word Count: 150 words exactly | Genre: fiction 

March 25, 2020

All she had wanted to do was help. She’d been as careful as she knew how to be. She was sure she’d do more good than harm. Absolutely positive. People needed exercise. She kept her studio spotless. She’d thought she’d been careful enough. She washed her hands and kept her distance. Spaced the mats 6 feet apart. Disinfected often. And yet. It hadn’t been enough. Going on carefully as usual had landed her in her bed. As her fever spiked and her cough intensified, she finally realized that careful wasn’t enough. The Recommended isolation was the only answer. How many people had she infected with her careful carefree approach? She survived the illness only to watch those she most loved succumb. The trajectory was traceable. She’d failed to do what she’d most wanted. She’d made matters worse. She couldn’t fathom why she ever thought she knew better than everyone else?

Prompt: Orchid | Word Count: 300 words exactly | Genre: fiction 

Mar 24, 2020

He’d sent her an orchid. It meant the world to her. Each day she watered it, fed it special food, which would be harder to find with all this craziness in the world. Supplies were erratic, on expected things, sometimes on more unusual items. She assumed the flower food would eventually be in short supply when the manufacturer no longer produced and stockpiles ran low. She dreaded that day. Orchids were so persnickety. 

So were people. She’d begged her son to come home. But he had refused, saying he would be as fine there as with her, stubbornly refusing her need. He liked his routines, his space. She worried. She called. Wash your hands. Her heart hurt  being separated. Every time she looked at the orchid he sent her she felt comforted believing if it thrived, so did he.

Over time she learned new skills, which at her age was quite an accomplishment. She learned to use Zoom, What’s App, and FaceTime to stay connected and to see her boy. This eased her unease. She learned to meditate and find solace in the new quiet she cultivated in her mind. She traveled virtually to places she’d always wanted to go, Carnegie Hall, the Louvre, and others. 

Social media alerted her to neighbors that needed help. She grabbed her sanitizer and made a point to help at least one person each day. She wanted to do more. So she sewed masks. She delivered supplies. She felt useful. 

Amidst the world’s great tragedy, she found a way to make peace with her son’s choices. She found her own resilience. She found purpose in helping those near her. The orchid he gave her blossomed as she learned to release her worry to the wind and trust her instincts. She found a new normal.