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Location: Chicago, Illinois, United States

Saturday, June 23, 2007

Waiting for Inspiration

The willow's long rope branches swayed in the wind and caressed my head and neck. I sat on the bench under the tree, staring at the ground, waiting for inspiration, keeping my head down lest the branches whip my face. Perhaps it was a mistake to expect inspiration to pop out of the ground, it being the kind of thing that only sneaks up on you. I turned my face up, and the willow whipped it.

I walked down the winding path to the serpentine bridge across the river. The late afternoon sun glowed orange on the current's ripples. On the far shore, near the Japanese garden, a short bearded man in flowing white robes seemed to hover upon the water, but this was only a trick of distance, light, and karate.

Behind me, I heard a whir like a blender and felt a sharp blow to the back of my legs. I fell, and something bit me and tore a chunk out of my leg. Then it leaped on my chest, twenty pounds of brown fur, muscle, and teeth, stinking of rotten meat. I tried to grab it or poke its eyes.

"Taz hungry," it said and dove for my neck.

"Jesus," I called out, but the far shore was empty.

2 Comments:

Anonymous 123Valerie said...

I like you, JMH.

11:29 AM  
Blogger Diesel said...

Diesel read the first sentence, sighing as he concluded this was yet another SERIOUS WRITER committing her musings to an unappreciative blogosphere. He skimmed the rest of the post, stopping only to read the final two sentences. "WTF?!" he exclaimed, and went back to read the rest of the post.

Very nice.

5:36 PM  

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