January 11, 2017

January 11: Blue

More about the 20 Days of Chill over here

Fiction: Sylvia's Fiction Blues

All day, Sylvia has been polishing one of her poems. She has written it upon a piece of tore-out page from a planner notebook. She has had one of her moments where words struck her so fiercely that she have to write them down or else be forced to fidget all day until the words leave her.

When she is finished, something inside her breathes in relief. As she reread the words, she finds they don't sound as good as in her head. She reads them out loud but quietly. Her roommate is out in the hallway and there is a party going on with plenty of people just roaming about. She knows all it takes to take her out of her mind is a crack from the thin bedroom door.

But as she has already consumed two beers earlier, her head is not quite sober and her thoughts sway about. She rereads the poem again and again finds so many faults in it that she crumbles up the page and throws it onto the carpeted floor. Must she always find fault where there is none? No, she will not do this again. She picks up the crumbled paper and smooths it out on the tabletop.

She reads again what she has written. But somehow this time, it does not sound as bad. Perhaps tomorrow, she will find the words less meaningful. Tomorrow, she will see the world differently. She believes that wholeheartedly. Her roommate rushes in  and pulls her out to the hallway where she is introduced to a tall man with a terribly arrogant face.


  1. I find that some things don't read as well in print as they sounded in my head. Rewrite...

  2. Hope she is happy with the piece tomorrow!

  3. Interesting. Will those words find their way to somewhere else?


"To practice any art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow. So do it." -- Kurt Vonnegut