Maggie: Writers from Writers' Bloc share their stories

Happy New Year from the Writers' Bloc.  We would like to share three pieces that we particularly enjoyed, although we felt all were some of our best contributions since we started our workshop last February.  The subject for our December meeting was "A day in the life of..." and we found it very interesting that only three pieces were about a day in the life of a human being.  The other voices were of a table, a vegetable, a parrot, a plant, and a Christmas tree.  So as you are clearing away the holiday decorations, and perhaps throwing out a tree, please take time to think about how it might have felt....

 A Christmas Story 

Today is the most important day of my life, or rather one of the two most important days, but my elders say it is the best of the two. It is my day, an all about me day. I have been nurtured and trimmed for this day and it is finally here.

The morning started early and rather uncomfortably as I had been girdled in a straight jacket since yesterday and packed like a sardine with hundreds of others like myself, all night long, in a truck. At daybreak we were disembarked and were lined up like totem poles in the snow, waiting to be chosen, waiting for our day, our very special day to start. Some of us, I being one, were liberated from our girdle to attract attention and show the Christmas shoppers how majestic, flawlessly green and freshly scented we were.

After lunch time things really started moving and one by one we were adopted by our families. For me it must have been around 3:00pm.

“Mum, mum look at this one, this one is perfect, can we get this one?”

This one is me!

“You’re right David, this one is perfect, just the size we need. We will get this one.”

A few minutes later I was lightly tied up and riding in the back of my family’s car on the way to discover my home.

And here I am now, six feet tall, my branches spreading out as far as I can reach, a golden tree bag at my base.  Mum has already adorned me from top to bottom with both tiny white lights and a garland of sparkling silver tinsel. The lights warm me, not enough to burn, just enough to enhance my natural pine perfume.

The children, David, Sarah and little Daniel, are hanging colored glass balls, red, green, blue, silver, gold as well as transparent glass like soap bubbles, on the tips of my branches. David and Sarah are allowed to stand on chairs to decorate my top branches whereas Daniel has the exclusive job of hanging balls on my lower branches.

It is such a wonderful day and I feel more and more beautiful as it progresses. The decorations are a little heavy but I can feel just how good they look on me. The children are laughing while they decorate and there is music playing, Christmas music, right now it is “Silent Night” but a while ago it was my favorite “Mon Beau Sapin”.

In a box on the couch I can see the bright gold star that will crown my top. Dad will place the star when he gets home from work.

What a day, the elders were right it is the best day of my life.  

Author:  C.G.

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 A Day in the Life of... 

This day begins like any other. Far too soon. The bleeping of the alarm means abandoning the duvet. Then, the hasty shower, shave, get dressed.  Yeah.

As in a trance, he pushes himself into the tram. Tries, like every day, to protect his polished black shoes from the pushchair wheels, the tramp's drooling dog, the other passengers' unforgiving feet.   Yeah.

All too soon.  "Place de la Comédie". Takes the tradesman's entrance into the big perfume store. The nightwatchman is leaving. Fumbles for the key to his locker.. Dumps his rucksack. Unpeels his anorak. There he is. Pointed black shoes. Black suit. Carefully-gelled black hair. Beautiful black skin. A glance at his watch. Time to go.    Yeah.

Up with the entrance grille. The usual bleeping from the alarm system. Busty blonde already in place behind the counter, licking her lip-gloss, flicking her hair. It's hotter than ever in here today. A new perfume makes him sneeze. The snooty supervisor jumps, then glares, stares, well, let her stare.  Yeah.

First few customers trickle in.  Furtive glances at him. Disdain. Fear. He should be used to it by now, except that he isn't. Might as well be invisible. This outfit he has is so uncomfortable. Alien somehow. After a weekend in tracksuit and Nikes, it's pure torture. Only his teeth show up, and why should he smile?   Yeah.

Alarm system is faulty and keeps bleeping. He's obliged to search the customers. Resentful young guys empty their rucksacks, contents often embarrassing. Young girls giggle and thrust their breasts at him along with their handbags. An old woman with a chignon, Louis Vuitton and bad breath, treads deliberately on his feet. And his feet hurt already.   Yeah.

Lunch break passes in a flash. Macdo and a coke. Cigarette outside, against the wall, shivering along with all the other coughers and hackers. Feet turning numb in those shoes.
What was his mother whining about this morning? - something he had to get from the pharmacy - No time left now.   Yeah.

Back in the doorway. Still the bleeping. Hotter than ever.  Suddenly a panic. Someone lying on the floor.  Drops to his knees. She isn't breathing. Hooks out the dentures, tips back the head, pinches the nose, blows into the mouth, presses the ribs. Counts. Waits. Out of the corner of his eye, sees the pompiers' boots. Rises to his feet. He can hear them thinking "Poncey Mr. Perfume". He mentally replies "Get back to your calendars".   Yeah.

Business and bleeping resume. Feet aching. Nose blocked. Too hot. Too bored. What time is it ? Tries to look at his watch without the supervisor noticing. A mate of his, hood up and cardboard cup in hand, stops to "hi-five" him.. Feels ashamed of his own stilted, whispered reply. The shoes pinch worse.   Yeah.

Closing time at last. Lights dimmed. last customers leave. He opens his locker. Takes out his anorak. More room on the tram now. He actually gets a seat. Some weirdos, though. Don't look at them. He closes his eyes. Prepares to face his complaining mother, his exhausted father, his pugnacious brothers and his frightened sisters.  Maybe someone will have a DVD...Maybe there's a game on TV.  Who knows?  And there'll still be his bed, won't there? And tomorrow is another day.   Yeah.
Author:  K.J.

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                    Up, Up and Away 

Well, life certainly has changed!  I used to feel free as a bird, but that is no longer the case.  I miss the foliage and the openness of my native land, and the freedom to come and go as I please.  It is true that I have covered a lot of territory since I left, and now when I do fly, it is usually in commercial airliners, rather than on my own, but world travelers must often make sacrifices.  I am no longer free to choose my destinations.  I generally know when another move is coming, but I am not consulted, and someone else packs my bags.  I must admit that I enjoy being waited on and cared for, and I am glad that, wherever we live, my door is generally left unlocked, so I still have a slight degree of mobility.  My immediate entourage is not unpleasant, but I am a bit jealous about anyone else paying too much attention to the woman I love.  Just this morning her husband was working from home, on the computer in the room they use as an office.  Since the hall door was open, I just wandered down, slipped unnoticed into the office, and gave him a good nip on one of his toes.  It's not my fault that the customs of the country here require that shoes be left at the front door.  He definitely was not expecting my visit.  He let out a roar and kicked about wildly, and might in fact have hurt me if I hadn't hopped so quickly out of reach.  My beloved came running to find out what all the yelling was about, and brought me back to the sitting room.  I am once again installed amidst the bars, but the door has been closed.  It might be for my own protection.  Who knows what hubbie might do to me to retaliate, although I think he really knows that he would never be forgiven if he inflicted any harm upon me.  I don't try to nip the household helper; I do not consider her a threat to the relationship I have with my beloved.  The helper keeps her distance and although she cleans the rest of the house, my space is tended only by my beloved.  Although I draw the line at physical abuse of the helper, who is quiet and gentle, I don't mind giving her a little psychological tickle from time to time.  Although she does not speak English, she understands a few basic words.  I heard her asking my beloved why, when I'm sliding down from my living space to the sitting room floor, I murmur "up, up, up."  Little does she know that for years people have been trying to keep me in line by yelling "up, up, up" each time I try to take advantage of the opportunity to explore... or to look for a toe or two to nip.  Not only that, but she probably does not realize that, although I am quite capable of imitating a wide variety of sounds and words, the first letter of the word "down" is not in my repertory.  It looks like my freedom will be limited for the rest of the day.  Perhaps I'll take a nap.  Although we don't have running water or a telephone, we have recently purchased a satellite dish, so perhaps someone will turn on  the television this evening and I'll be able to whistle along with some of the programs.
Author:  M.P.