Showing posts with label story a day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label story a day. Show all posts

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Story a Day 5/5 - Brain Candy


Whew!  After those last three days, I needed a bit of a palate cleanser!  I hope that you enjoy today’s fun little bit of nonsense. Some brain candy.  The prompt for today was to allow a Wikinews article to spark a story.  The link to the original article is at the end. 

 

Evolution

Now that I have reason to consider it, I suppose that such a thing was inevitable.  We, as a whole, are a more progressive people out here, and it’s not as though these individuals live under a rock.  No, they leave that to the vampires.  Contrary to what some might believe, regardless of their circumstance these are the same, valuable, forward-thinking contributing members of society as those around them. 

After years of trying to conceive a child, I had some tests run only to discover that my body had only ever been going through the motions.  That the irregular cycles I’d always attributed to stress, or genetics, were in fact a sign that I was not ovulating.  We tried for quite a while to induce such; but all that happened was that I became irritable, weepy, and fat.  Finally, I decided on in-vitro fertilization.  I picked a donor and off we went.

I started to suspect success on the two hour drive home from work one day.  Suddenly the smell of the exhaust became unbearable, even though the windows were rolled up all the way.  I turned off the air conditioning, but as the car grew warmer, and I could still smell the fumes, I began to retch.  I texted my doubles partner that I would have to cancel and spent the evening in bed.  But it wasn’t until I was out for dinner with some friends that I knew for sure.  Instead of my usual salad I found myself ordering a steak; extra rare.  A week later my doctor confirmed what I already knew, that I was finally going to be a mother.  He waved off my concerns as part of a normal pregnancy and told me to relax.  So I did.

Once I entered the second trimester, my pregnancy was uneventful.  I ran every day just as I always had, meditated spent time with my friends who all ooh’d and ahh’d appropriately.  I’d lay awake all night, feeling her kicks and flutters, already in love with this creature growing inside of me. The ultrasound revealed that I was having a daughter, and I decided to name her Luna. 

Luna was born, ironically, on the eve of a new moon after thirty six hours of grueling and painful labor.  She was beautiful, pink and perfect, covered in downy lanugo and looking at me with bright, alert eyes.  She nursed hungrily and easily, I had been warned to expect some difficulty as we both learned what to do, but my girl and I, we were in sync.  Four weeks later, though, I learned truth about my daughter.  Late one night I woke to a howl, looked to the crib beside my bed and saw this black, furry thing growling and snarling where my daughter should have been.  I screamed and beat at it, looking for my daughter.  Where was she?  Did it eat her?  Then suddenly I saw the eyes, alert and intelligent, looking up at me, and I knew.  I remembered the donor profile:” Trim, athletic, in good health.  Dark hair, green eyes. Above average intelligence. Enjoys running, trying new foods, and moonlight. “I should have known that they would find a way to eschew violence.  After all, we are a progressive society. 
 

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Another May Tradition

Here we are.  May has arrived and has brought with it two of my favorite tranditions.  The first is "Attempt Unsuccessfully to Celebrate an Archaic Holiday Day," occurring annually on May first.  My mom introduced me to this holiday when I was but a child.  We lovingly wove baskets out of wrapping paper, filled them with daffodils, and attempted to deliver them to neighbors.  The first two were not home.  The third threatened to sic her dog, a slavering, toothy, beast of a German Shepherd, on us.  When we attmepted to explain our errand she shreiked that she had enough flowers and ordered us to leave.  At that point, we settled for giving flowers to the nice girl in the hat at the ice cream window.  Not to be deterred, I set out to creat teh same joyous memories for my children.  Five weeks post c-section, and with a oble headed baby strapped to my chest I hobbled gmaely around our yard, gathing flowers and fighing to keep my toddler from falling into the "holler" and thus his death.  After that, we took a handful of pain medication and a nap.  Thus fortified, we set out.  at the first house I took my toddler by the hand and together we placed our basket of flowers by the door.  Ah, success!  At that moment, my world exploded.  It seems that I had not clearly explained to the boy that we would be leaving the flowers.  Said boy is, shall we say, a bit high strung, and his toddler years were nothing short of catastrophic.  For reasons I still cannot comprehend the fact that we were leaving the flowers totally unhinged the child and I found myself dragging a screaming, crying, snotting, biting vaguely child shaped creature back to the van.  At that  moment, I could help but look forward to the next year, when the tradition could continue.
May wasn't done with me yet, though.  Oh no.  You see, we still get to look forward to "Throw out the Seeds I Tried to Start and Admit My Utter Failure as a Gardener Day."  Each year I vow to grow my own food.  I have visions of a bounty filling my larder, all grown on my own land with my two grubby little hands.  The thing is, I have a black thumb that rivals that of a zombie with frostbite and so each March I buy peat pots and seeds.  I read the instructions.  Twice.  I sow the seeds gingerly, whispering endearments and encouragement.  I feed them.  I water them.  I keep them in the sunlight and out of the cold.  Each May I finally and tearfully throw out the molding, smelly balls of dirt and go visit my friends at the Farmer's Market. 
To this parade of masochism, I plan to add "Story a Day May."  A Story a Day, much like the autumnal counterpart NaNoWriMo is intended to get all of us who are going to write "someday," are going to finish the novel "someday" to get off of our collective sit upons and actually do it.  I'm not going to lie, I love these things.  In theory.  I love the extra push to write.  I love the community.  I love the formal excuse to eschew housework (but honey, it's  A Story a Day May!).  But I'm wary.   I'm certain that as I sit there, around the 20th, inky fingered and dangerously close to a coffee fueled arrhythmia, that the truth will hit me.  No matter how good my intentions may be, it's just another tradition in May.