The 100 Day Writing Challenge
(Day 26)
Freewriting, 10 minutes on a timer:
The wild inside was growing louder,
and today it was claiming its share.
It was a Sophie B. Hawkins kind of morning. Not necessarily a ‘lament of lovers’ kind of morning, but more an early 90s mellow rock, sunshine through the window, lazy 11am coffee drank in front of the window kind of morning.
It was day 278 of that year, the year of doom, as I am sure many shall refer to it for decades to come.
Except something was different. Not outside, necessarily, although the sun was shining a particularly warm and inviting and prospect-fuelled light that could make even the most morose of individuals believe in something more than just pure mathematical probabilities. It was more something on the inside. A shift. A steadiness. It had been brewing for about 265 of those above mentioned number of chained-to-the-table days. It had been announcing itself. But we all know how signs like these can often be dismissed as mere sensations on the count of it not having an outcome in sight, an immediate materialisation.
But this time…
This time the change had already happened, or so she felt.
She reached from behind the bed and pulled out a large-sized suitcase. Then opened the doors to her wardrobe. ‘Right, as Rory Gilmore would say, what would I be embarrassed to wear if I were caught in a car accident?’.
She had promised herself years ago that she wouldn’t live out of a suitcase ever again. It was the circumstances back then that required it. She wanted things, everyday things, normal things, banal, house things, lovely things, decorative things, unnecessary things, things that make a place look pretty and cozy, things that make a place look like a home.
But sitting and counting the housebound days with no end in sight can make even the most welcoming of homes feel inescapable and the most incurable of homebodies awake enough to want to dig deep to their true roots. The wild inside was growing louder, and today it was claiming its share.