RESILIENT - a 20-minute prose exercise

Here’s my 20-minute prose exercise for today. Writing along with me? The prompt today is Resilient. Write whatever comes to mind from that prompt for 20 minutes. If you’d like to share yours, you can email me here. I’m working on getting a place to share them publicly (or anonymously) on here if that’s something you’d like. If not, I’m happy to provide private feedback via email.

RESILIENT

The bugs were different up there, resting on my perch eighty feet above the rest of the world. Bigger and uglier, or maybe their alien beauty is so foreign it was lost on me.

Eighty feet. God, it felt like eighty miles.

It wouldn’t be long before it all comes crashing down. Not long at all.

But that’s okay. We gave it the old college try, this establishment, this institution, this union.

I sat there on my perch not to escape, but to reflect. Okay, maybe to escape a little, too. Because the air was easier up here, at least it seemed to me. I paid no mind to my gooseflesh; I had no use for cold, or for nerves. Not anymore.

What was that song we used to sing together, the one we’d sing until the end of the world? Even that seemed eighty miles away.

I ran out of cigarettes hours before. They’d lasted longer than I thought. Tough living off nicotine and determination, but I guess I’ve always been a little resilient to the shit life has monkey-paw thrown at me.

Time didn’t matter anymore. Not really, but old habits die hard. I knew by the placement of the setting sun that it was nearly six o’clock. We were almost there.

I glanced again to the world below. Did they know? Did they know what we’d done? Would it make any difference if they did?

I let my feet dangle off the edge of the roof a little, like a kid stuck on the tallest stool.

“What was that song, Gabe? The one we used to sing?” I turned, but he wasn’t there. He was never there, not atop my perch. I knew that, but I was surprised anyway. I tried to find the memory of the tune with a hum, but it was gone.

A distant buzzing from below distracted my remembering. What was that? Were they singing? No, screaming. Those were screams.

“Here we go,” I said, sighing. I sat up a little and watched the chaos unfurl below.

The little bipedal insects ripping each other apart, destroying everything in sight. How many times had we done this before? Ten? Twelve? A hundred? We’d do it again and again until we got it right. That was all. There was no regret, not a single tear shed. Because this was life, and we were its custodians. We come in, set things up, provide the basic needs, let the chaos happen and clean it up after. That’s all. It takes its toll after a while, to be sure, but you get used to it.

The pillars of black smoke from the street finally rose high enough to greet me, and that was my cue to leave. No sense in falling down with an eight-story building. I knew what that felt like, and the joy of dying just wasn’t there anymore.

Gabe approached me as I stood up.

“I thought you weren’t coming?” I said.

“Eh, I got bored.” He glanced down to the street below and whistled. “Anything different this time?”

I shrugged. “I gave them love.”

He scoffed. “Well, that was stupid.”

“Yeah.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll get the mop.”

And the mess was cleaned, the stage reset, the bugs born again.