There I was, silly rabbit that I am, thinking I'd be posting too much for you all. Ahh well. My life is moving pretty fast of late, and I'm always too tired or busy to tell you about it. You have no idea how many times I've had to backspace for just these few sentences. But I've been wanting to tell you about that flash fiction contest I entered that inspired me to start this blog. Didn't get Top 10 (rendering having my own site unnecessary), but I did get Top 20 (of 250+ entries), earning my name on an Honorary Mentions list and a $20 Amazon gift card. Woo hoo! Here was my entry:
There were a lot of babies in The Waiting Place, most of them slightly depressed. They were waiting for school. And while they knew it would be fun to learn new things and meet new people, they also knew it was incredibly tedious to be a baby—or so Mary had been told.
“You can’t do anything for yourself,” one of them had said. "You know everything, but can’t tell anyone, and by the time you figure out how to use your body again, your brain has turned to mush and you can’t even remember what you’re there for.
“You go to learn to be a better person, but get so distracted by all there is to do. Then you’re back Home and … you’ve failed."
“No,” Mary had argued. “I think it’s part of the learning. I didn’t understand what hot was until I touched the stove. I’ll never do it again. I learned.”
The nameless baby had been Mary’s favorite conversation in The Waiting Place, and one she would remember for years to come, but she did speak to others.
One man was crying an endless mourning sorrow for the ones he’d left behind. Mary tried to tell him that the time would go by so much faster if he would just go Home and wait for them, but he was adamant that he should stay where he was. Mary pitied him his ignorance.
There was a woman she called Joy who laughed and carried on to anyone who would listen. She was positively thrilled to see that there was such a thing as a Waiting Place. She held Mary and cuddled her and told her what an amazing gift their lives would be as soon as they woke.
There was another man waiting to go Home, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be allowed. He had done bad things. His Life had gone horribly wrong. He didn’t deserve to go Home and he knew it. He was afraid of where else he might end up.
Was there a place he would be forced to pay for his mistakes? He couldn’t remember, and Mary couldn’t tell him; he wouldn’t have believed it anyway. There was a place such as the one that he described, and he was the one keeping himself there.
All told, thousands waited in The Waiting Place. Some were waiting for Life, others waited to go Home, and then there were those who were waiting to remember what it was they were waiting for.
Mary prayed for them most of all.
Mary’s mother was there sometimes. They would see each other from across the space, and though they each knew it would be effortless to come together, neither made that move. One afraid to ask forgiveness, the other unwilling to give it. There was nothing to forgive; Mary’s mother could not have prevented Mary’s presence there any more than she had her own.
Mary’s mother would eventually realize that she had done the right things when they’d mattered most, and she wouldn’t regret one single fumble. One day, she would meet Mary at Home, where they would congratulate one another on a Life well done.
For now though, Mary waited alone. She was waiting for Life, she knew that. She was waiting for someone to save her from the dark, but she couldn’t remember why. Why didn’t she just go Home? She knew that she knew, but couldn’t remember. It was frustrating.
“Help me remember,” she asked of no one in particular. “I know you’re not supposed to, but please give me a reason.”
Mary sat and waited for quite some time after that. At least, she thought so. There wasn’t a clock on the wall, or a sun, or stars, no tools to measure such a trivial thing.
Finally, a breath on the back of her neck signaled the approach of the person who never was.
“It’s time,” the bodiless voice whispered. “And this is the best I can give you.”
Mary saw a man. He wasn’t there in front of her, or breathing on her neck, but he was as real as any of that—or more so. Blonde and blue-eyed, his body was quite a bit older than hers, covered almost entirely in scar tissue. Yet he was beautiful. With every fiber of her timeless being, Mary yearned to be with this man.
She would find him.
She would fix him.
She would love him.
Of course, now that the whole thing is done and over with, I see at least 5 things I wish I'd changed. Ah well. Such is life. Let me know.
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