Of Past and Grief
Experimental prose poem.
It may be a foreign country, but still its culture impacts. For good or bad, bad or good, the past leaves its mark—undeniably indelible. Whether you lean into it or run from it, it shapes and forms your future. It can secure or derail that future. Just as we can't bandage over the past and hope it disappears, we can't live there.
Angela wished it were different. Too many nights she had spent switching between crying her heart out and following decidedly dicey rabbit holes on the internet about time travel. Perhaps someone had quietly discovered the secret of time travel and was waiting for someone stupid enough and driven by enough grief to trial it. The problem is, time travel doesn't exist, and Angela was stuck living in a present that felt devoid of anything but the remnants and reminders of the past. She had lost count of the number of times the rabbit hole had provided her with a new member of her blocked list.
She didn't mind being humored and getting caught up in the fantasy. Pestering and boundary crossing she did mind. Sitting in her serene and very aquamarine bathroom, where she often pondered, her mind switched between thoughts, like an ADHD channel hopper trying to find something to watch. Grief, more tampons, the amount she was straining, a need for more fiber perhaps, and grief. The all-consuming power of being left behind when those dearest die.
If she could go back, though, would that be any better? she wondered. The selfishness that ate at her at times, when she took comfort in it, said yes, it would be better; she would have her someone back. The selflessness that won out when her equilibrium was in better order said no, because she would steal some moments she never had before they died. But they would still die, and she would still be alive. The chain would not be broken; the course would stay the same.
At pains she was to admit, we are defined by death as much as we are by life.
*
Thanks for reading!
Author's Notes: Had this in my folder for a while. While I work on other things, figured might as well share it.
About the Creator
Paul Stewart
Award-Winning Writer, Poet, Scottish-Italian, Subversive.
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By LUCCIAN LAYTH4 days ago in Critique
Comments (7)
We really are defined by death aren't we. We would be utterly different without it.
A heart wrenching set of prose!! Beautifully done Paul!
Okay, hear me out. Instead of doing all that, Angela could off herself and be with her person who died. Lol.
This is exceptional writing, Paul, and a very creative approach to weaving a ‘What if story’ with time travel as a construct and a metaphor.
I like this structure which I’ve seen you do before and you do it very well. One of my favourite lines was, “Perhaps someone had quietly discovered the secret of time travel and was waiting for someone stupid enough and driven by enough grief to trial it.” Irony is hard to write! 👏
Super creative format and adeptly written!
Good work and very interesting.