I read a short story.
Don’t know why I did it. Listening to Nine Inch Nails I dithered. Post a photo, think, talk, laugh or walk. Who am I for this instant in time? Pick a task, take a detour. A site I rarely visit anymore – casualty #1 of my time at Waterloo. Why did I choose that story? On a page full of options – a 7 second choice. What are things given I wondered. What will I experience today?
Soft. Chronological. Painful. Thoughtful. Evocative. Each page a different journey, each time a different reaction. At every page I stop. I explore… Explore what?
Tangent to tangent I pursue, my mind an entity of its own. Read the words. Think them through. Read again. I see myself in the subjects. I see myself in the author. Who am I to others? Am I
- The one who ignores?
- The one who believes the lies?
- The one who adores?
- The one who’s played?
- The one who needs?
- The one who walks away?
- The one who’s ‘just there’?
Switch tacks. Change my point of view. I ask myself a different question. Take the author’s perspective; mindset shifts. Pause and reflect. Too complicated. Too much there.
“What have you been given?”
Signpost at the end.
Uncertain, I read the responses. See the pages. One. Two. Three, twelve, twenty-seven, thirty. I wonder what I will put down. Not what, if… Dare I join these strangers in declaring what I’ve been given?