Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Bedbugs

While watching a “prestigious” meeting taking place at Georgetown University on television, I realize that even the most ornate decorations, the backslapping and fine shoes, the cathedral ceiling and columns, equate to nothing more than a bedbugs nest in the presence of eternity.

Does God, like me, just lay down at night and say, “go ahead and feast.”

If I stick my nose out of this hole, all I will see is another snake swallowing a mouse, or an ant carrying a death. I’m as jaded as 46 years will endure.

I pray that I somehow remember our true childhood nature. That I could find even the spent rind of happiness let alone the full fruit. My last 300 bucks won’t buy anything that can save me.

I worry to write at a time like this, all that will be penned is an ending. The intro was hopeful, the body was a delusional letdown, and now the ending… the ending is not going to have a twist. There is no creativity that can make this inevitable tragedy crack a smile.

Unless I can simply be happy for and forgiving of the bedbugs; “Go ahead and feast… Go ahead and feast.”

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