My project in Introduction to Narrative Writing course

I couldn't help it. I wrote one story based on the exercises in the class (Like a Lark) and another story that I worked on Unit 4 (Spattering of Stars).

Like a Lark

There’s not much to my day. I get up, go to work, drink a cup of coffee and sleep when I get home. It’s nothing special. I picture myself taking a vacation but I can’t bring myself to do it. So, what do I do?

In the few precious moments, which I have to myself, I walk. I go down the hall, past the intersection and through the doors into the brisk morning. It wakes me up and breathes new life into me. The sun freshens my skin and hair as I trace the side of the parking lot, to and from the gate, near and away from the opposite corner. Such is my break from the monotony.

I remember my parents when I’m walking. All it takes is one call and I’m instantly at home. “How’s your morning? You’re just getting up? I miss you.” I happily chirp and sing like a lark to them as I pass the posts near the gate. On a good day, I may forget the gate is even there and fly away.

I chirp again but I get no response. “Hello? Are you there?” I hear them, so I respond. “Hello? Can you hear me?” I stop walking. Are they not able to hear me? The gate’s shadow can still reach me. I hang up and call again, hoping that will work. “Did you hang up,” they ask? I talk again, relieved, but I stand still. Time is running out on my small moment of freedom.

“Alright, I will talk to you soon. I love you.” Our conversation ends. I walk back inside, past the intersection, down the hall. On my desk is a cup of coffee, ready for me to drink. I sit down and sip, prepared to continue my routine.

Spattering of Stars

I get up and walk. That’s what I do. I start with small steps, and the dry grass crinkles with each of my movements before bouncing back into place.

Where I live there’s a lot of light pollution at night. I stare heavenward and see only the moon with a sprinkling of stars, maybe a planet or two. When I’m alone, I can’t help but look around. The cool winter nights leave ice on the grass and parked cars. They awaken my senses when my bare feet touch the ground and my fingers graze the frosted glass. I’m just as awake out here as I am during the day.

The last time I slept was two summers ago on a Wednesday. The willows at the nearby lake teased my senses by irritating my allergies. It’s quite a walk to the doctor’s office, two miles on the sidewalk, up an incline, through an intersection with heavy traffic and up a set of stairs to the practice. It doesn’t feel natural taking the bus there, even as I inhale exhaust as it and smaller cars drive past.

I stole a little sleep in the waiting room. It was so quiet, it felt like I was the only one in the room. The nurse called my name to wake me up. I sat there in the doctor’s office, waiting to hear the results from my tests. They say life is fragile and often taken for granted. Like a willow branch, health itself floats through the air, making its presence known, before it subsides. It rarely drifts back up again, unlike that willow branch.

I agreed to take chemo. It felt like poison searing my veins, scorching the corrupt cells as well as the compliant. It affected my sense of taste, whereas the tumor already took my appetite. Seasoning of any kind eventually tasted like salt. In my darkest times, I was supposed to have someone there, to encourage me, to coach me, will me through the pain. I had no one, and so I quit.

The pain keeps me up at night and robs me of my appetite. I’ve since learned to pay no mind to it. When the pain hits, I get up and walk. That’s what I do. It stirs my blood, keeps me going. Above me, the scarce spattering of stars cheer me on.