It is Stream of Consciousness Saturday time again and this weeks prompt is “picture.” We are supposed to write about a picture that we see when we sit down to write. Unfortunately, my regular writing place which has lovely pictures is overrun with workers installing new flooring. I will have to write about the picture in my head.
The Picture by John W. Howell © 2018
“So what picture have you formed in your head?”
“I’m sitting on a desert island under a palm tree.”
“What are you doing there?”
“Basking in the sweet peace and quiet.”
“Is there anyone there with you?”
“Let me see. Nope. There is only me, the sand, and the crystal clear water. Oh yes, there are palm trees too.”
“Aren’t you lonely?”
“I just got here for heaven’s sake. By the way, where did you come from?”
“Me? I’m just a figment of your imagination.”
“Who asks a lot of questions.”
“Well, it must be your enquiring mind.”
“Okay so let’s just go with it. What else do you want to know?”
“Why are you here?”
“Have you ever spent three weeks with an air compressor and pounding hammers?”
“I could say yeah, cause I’m part of you but let me play along and say, no.”
“This island is so quiet it almost brings tears of joy in the response to the relief.”
“Wow. You trying to impress yourself with that kind of description?”
“Now you’re being a pain.”
“So how long are we—um—I mean you staying?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Let’s just say I might be ready to leave as soon as my heart slows down and ears stop ringing.”
“I think that was the bourbon and not hammers.”
“Very funny. I only used the bourbon as soothing syrup.”
“Said the guy who pitched an empty 1.5-liter bottle.”
“Aw come on. I had that thing a year. Besides, why do I listen to you?”
“Good point. Do you have an answer?”
“Go away.”
“How about a nice cold drink of water.”
“You bring a cooler?”
“No.”
“So why offer a cold drink?”
“It was a thought, not an offer.”
“Come to think about it. I think I need to find some water.”
“And a stray burger or two.”
“Damn. this may not work.”
“You think?”
“Let’s get out of here and stop at Buster’s Bodacious Burgers on the way home.”
“My kind of guy. I’m right behind you.”
“Wait. How do we get off?”
“I’m a figment, not a magician. How do I know? You got us here now take us home.”
“There’s no place like home.”
“Wizard of Oz isn’t going to help. Why don’t you just wake up.”
“Huh. Where am I? Where are you, figment? Oh great. Hammers.”
