Facing What Scares Me Most

A 21-day writing challenge. Your comments will be my warm-up prompts tomorrow.

The city is still, as if holding its breath. Silk-grey clouds hang unmoving above the scrapes. Hundreds of shimmering buildings stand like giants, waiting for orders from their masters to strike. To strike at what? At this slumber, this eerie peace, this unnerving tranquillity that fills the morning. Time stands still while a battle rages inside me.

I grip at this free hotel pen as if it were a blade. Slash, slash — killing time before it kills me. Twenty minutes left on the timer; if I touch my phone, I’ll kill a metaphorical tree I’m planting on Forest. Unable to accept my reality, I long for peace in times of war and launch for battle in times of peace. An anger, not so much an anger, more like a restlessness, thick as petrol, brews within. What seems to be the matter? Who’s asking, I don’t know.

Writing always feels like slicing my belly, pushing a hand inside me and dreading digging at what’s there. Warm blood and organs. Dig deeper. A softness I must protect. What else? Now it hurts, instigates tears. This little, ugly creature—a yellowish, velvet beast covered in slime, eyes wide shut but ears wide open. It senses me. Its wings are soft and floppy around its body. It knows me, so it’s not afraid. I want it to stay there, inside me, but I don’t know how; it’s day one, and now my belly’s open and blood and guts are spilling out. It stretches a tiny hand, not a hand, more like a claw. This endearing thing I’ve called stupid a hundred times, who now seems so at peace and regal. Forgiving.

I don’t dare touch it—her—lest I break it. It’s not the blood and slime that scare me. I don’t want to hurt it—her. Me. She looks so frail, yet those talons could kill. Her wings shake a little, unfeathered, venous, leathery membranes like a bat’s. Her claw finds the palm of my tattooed hand, so huge in comparison, and even though I know everything is okay, I’ve no idea what to do with her, so I just wait. The alarm saves me for a five-minute break.