Dog

Ginger padded along, weaving around the humans who walked on the sidewalk. She didn't like the cold concrete, and she didn't like the city, but her human chose to live here. Now it was just a matter of trying to get home before her human found out she'd managed to slip out again. There'd been talk last time of a new home. She shook herself at the thought. 

The last time was awful. Metal bars all around her, other dogs barking...being taken away and never coming back. Some went with new humans. But others, the older, less desirable ones, went the other way. Through the dark door at the end of the hall. Some fought like mad when they were taken that way. Others...just gave in, resigned to their fate. 

Ginger was getting older. She knew that was to be her fate. Families didn't want old dogs. They wanted puppies. She was lucky her human had wanted her in the first place. But the city...

The smells were horrible, the worst. So many humans, the four wheeled things they rode in...it was awful. She just loved to get out at night and roam around when there were less humans around and things were somewhat quiet. The tiny place her human lived was not enough space for a dog like her. 

She turned down an alley, and made her way to the side door of a building. With her paw she was able to pull the broken door open enough to slip inside and began up the stairs. She met her frantic human halfway up. Ginger sniffed her human, then sat and waited for the inevitable.
"There you are!!! Ginger! I was so worried!"  Her human carried the dreaded leash, and clipped it to her collar, then turned to go back up the stairs to the small apartment, Ginger in tow.

Her human kept rambling. "I've got some amazing news, Ginger! We're getting out of here. Going back to my parents' farm. I just can't seem to catch a break here. And you'll be able to run free to your heart's content." Her human stopped in front of the door to their apartment, knelt down and gave Ginger a huge hug. "And no more running away at night. Three weeks, Ginger. Can you keep from running away for three weeks?"

The time frame her human gave her meant nothing to Ginger of course. She just nuzzled her human and resigned herself to not slipping out for a time. To see if this move back to the farm would really happen. She hoped it would. 

Pursuit of Happiness

Assignment: Describe what the phrase "pursuit of happiness" means to you in 2-3 typed pages. 

Cheryl read the assignment over and over again for what must be the fiftieth time. She sighed. Why did English teachers have to make these essays so philosophical? She hated English class for that reason. Well, for more than that reason, really. I mean, who CARES how many things the old man suffered in The Old Man and the Sea? Hemingway really just wasn't that amazing of a writer. None of his work screamed to her.  Who cares what the symbolism of the dog in that one random short story is? 

What use will this be in her life? A two to three page essay, TYPED no less, on what "pursuit of happiness" means? UGH. 

She chewed on her lower lip and glanced at the fantasy novel sitting on her nightstand. Well...Maybe for a few minutes. 

...

Cheryl glanced up as she finished her novel. She looked at the clock. Shit! she thought. It was 1 am. She looked back at her laptop, which had gone dark from disuse. Waking it up she stared again at the blank Word document. She couldn't possibly afford to not turn in this paper. 

Glancing back at the book she had just finished, a sudden spark of inspiration hit her. She grinned, sat up, pulled the laptop onto her lap and began to type. 

...

English class was at 2 pm, the last class of the day. Cheryl struggled through every single class, fighting to keep her eyes open. She'd managed one hour of sleep before her mom was hounding her to get her ass out of bed and get on the bus. 

When English class finally rolled around, she walked in and noticed that several people were "out sick", which she knew was really because they hadn't finished their essays. Damn, she could have managed that one. Except for that huge chem exam she had second period. And the Calculus test. 

The teacher smiled at everyone who had made  it in. "Well, since a few of you are out, we're going to read some of the essays in front of the class. Cheryl, why don't you start with yours?"

Cheryl groaned. She hated that alphabetically her last name came first in the class. It meant she was normally the first for anything. She stood up, went to the front of the class and began to read her essay. It stretched - barely - across one page, which she knew she'd get marked down for.

What does the "pursuit of happiness" mean to me? It means being allowed to make my own decisions about my own life. It means I can stay up until one in the morning reading an amazing fantasy novel that we would never read in class because it's not Hemingway or Faulkner or Shakespeare. It means I can choose to write this stupid essay or not. 

I chose to write it of course, or I'd fail. Can't afford to fail. 

Some people think the pursuit of happiness means wealth or being popular. Me? I would rather have a couple of close friends, some good fantasy novels, and not have to be bothered with the awful details of life. It means choosing to skate through my classes as best and as fast as I can and moving on with my day. That's how I pursue my happiness. 

It took me three hours to write this. What exactly IS happiness anyway? Is it staring at your baby and just knowing they need you? Loving your husband or boyfriend? Is it working hard and not making a lot of money but knowing that it's OK? What about working hard and making tons of money? What really defines it? 

My happiness is found in my books. My happiness is found in hanging with my friends. My happiness is found in procrastinating an assignment that really isn't that important in the grand scheme of things. That's my definition of the pursuit of happiness. 

Then without another word, she handed the single piece of paper to the teacher and sat down at her desk. First one kid started clapping, and then they all were. 

Guess what? She got an A on that paper in spite of not turning in more than one page. 

Cyborg

Screeching tires. 

Shock.

Horror. 

Pain.

Darkness.

...

When he woke, he couldn't move. Something wasn't right. Something held him down. He started to panic. Suddenly someone was there, haloed by the bright light above him. An angel? Had he died? Was he in heaven? Soft, soothing words. And then fire through his veins. His eyes closed. 

...

The next time he woke, he didn't panic. He kept his eyes closed. With his mind he reached out to try to move his fingers. That's odd. Only the fingers on his right hand seemed to be working. Oh my God. Had he lost his left arm?! He fought the rising panic, breathed slow, calming breaths. Now it was time to try his hand. Okay, good. That moved. His fingers could curl into a weak, fist. His wrist moved. There was no pain. 

When he focused some more he could feel an ache on the left side of his body. He tried to move his left fingers. Something happened....but what? He couldn't tell exactly. He heard a slight whirring sound, like a computer trying to work. Was there a machine attached to him? Slowly he tried to lift his head up.

And then the angel was there again. This time he understood her words. 

"Shhh. It's alright. They've fixed you. You were in a horrible accident. They saved your life. You're okay."

He tried to speak and found he couldn't. Maybe his mouth and throat were just dry. Or maybe...

"Don't try to speak. You'll need to learn that all over again. Doctor Spaulding is the best doctor around and he has the best team. They'll help you. They'll train you to walk again. They'll teach you to talk again. So far everything is going well."

He tried to give her a questioning look. She smiled. Her teeth were so white. Perfectly straight. He couldn't help but try to smile back. Something was keeping him from doing so. Something...He moved his tongue, touched his lips...On the left side he felt something metallic. His eyes widened. Panic set in. He couldn't control it.

"Hush now." And then fire in his veins again. His eyes closed.

...

The third time he woke, there was a man in the room. He was speaking to the angel. "He'll thank us in the end, Nurse. He was lucky we found him in time."

"He seemed so distressed, Doctor, I don't know if he'll truly thank us for this."

"Oh, he will. They always do." A pause. "Oh, look. Our patient is awake."

A shadow over the bed. He opened his eyes. 

"Hello, my boy. You're safe now."

He looked at the doctor and tried to convey a question with his limited capabilities. The doctor smiled. His teeth were yellowed and stained, sharp and crooked. "Nurse, the mirror. Let him see what he is now."

The mirror came. At first he didn't look. He was afraid. What sort of monstrosity was he? He suspected but feared to confirm it. Finally his eyes moved from the doctor to the mirror. 

His eyes widened. A sharp intake of breath. Panic. Fear. Hatred. Calming breaths. Reluctance. Acceptance. 

Cyborg.

What is this blog?

Hi! I'm Melissa and this is my attempt at getting back into the swing of writing. Every day (or at least most days) I'll post a writing prompt (a word or phrase) as the title to my entry, and then I'll write for 15 minutes about that word or phrase. 

Whatever I write might not be finished (though if I actually get into a groove I may just go ahead and keep going!), and it will not be proofread. So please don't mind grammatical errors and the like. I will simply be letting the words flow. These are writing exercises that will hopefully get me back into writing every day. I may or may not write every single day. I am hoping to be able to do 15 minutes a day but sometimes life is busy (as we all know). 

Prompts for the remainder of January:

• Cyborg
• Pursuit of happiness
• Dog
• Flying
• Fraud
• Dragons
• Violence
• Children
• Wisdom
• Memory
• Nameless
• Faceless men
• Acid rain
• Monsters
• Cancer
• Missing child
• Train