Would you like to swing on a star - part 1.

My friends at Crack Your Nuts have asked me to join them in a writing challenge where we write an article, short story, essay, or whatever we can think of everyday.  Challenge accepted.


Writing Challenge Day 1 - post 1.
From a random plot generator I got this:

A man in his late twenties, who is very secretive.
A woman in her early forties, who can be quite sensitive.
The story begins in a hovel.
A close friend has a terminal illness.
It's a story about a life or death decision.
Your character investigates with the help of a good friend


Would you like to swing on a star - Bob Smeets


Sarah, a sensitive, lonely girl, from the Scottish Highlands, sits in a wobbly chair, that wants to break, with her face buried in her hands, sobbing, laughing, and then sobbing again. Her emotions, too much to control this time, echoed through the small, disgusting hovel out in the middle of nowhere. The chair, like the rest of the stuff in the small hut, are all in ruin, with dirt and dust everywhere. A fitting end, she thought, to a life in constant ruin anyway.


This is not a passing low for Sarah that just comes and goes. Sarah is having one of those dire moments, again. A passionate person to begin with, she can become lost in the complex duality of life, at the mercy of everything and yet none of it at all. Her mood can be off the charts. Her heart can bleed with ferocity.


"Nothing is ever ours because we don't control anything; this is why we cry," Sarah shouted. "Except everything is given to us from the compassion of God and this is why we cry too!"


Standing upright out of the chair and looking off at some invisible accuser, she laughed, as if figuring out the nature of crying was an epic game that she won, "In relation to pressure, we cry because we lose control, and if that pressure were of a more happy form, we laugh because we lose control!"


Sarah wondered, with tear stained cheeks, what it was about control that made her weep so ferociously, and why she couldn't grasp it, hold on to it, and use it. How can she be so naked and vulnerable to so many overwhelming forces? Is control an illusion - her life an illusion? Life goes away in a flash, right before our eyes. "Does anything even matter? Am I "just" a human or am I "especially" human?"


Sarah came to this isolated area in the Scottish wilderness to be alone and get some much needed healing. The doctors in Aberdeen signed the release forms, having done all they could do. They gave her some prescriptions, a hefty bill, and a lot of fake smiles. So the small, rundown hovel west of Inverness, where she used to camp, was her last chance at "peace".


With her grief now at a frenzy, reaching out with her hands, Sarah clasped tightly onto the bone-handle knife. She held it close to her neck, shaking and hesitant, "We are damned if we do and damned if we..."


But before she could even finish her sentence, and finish the job, "You always have a friend in me Sarah." A raspy voice, from the small open door to the disgusting hovel, boomed loudly and surprised her.


Sarah turned and stared at a boyish young man with long, straight hair, covering much of his face. He seemed to be about 20 or so. There was an adorable toughness to him, she thought. He was wearing dirty, casual clothing - a rolling stones t-shirt and some blue jeans.


"Who the Hell are you?" Sarah quickly hid the knife behind her hip, but couldn't hide her shock.

"My name is Lenoir."

"And... how do you know me?"

"I have been watching you for some time. I have come to calm you down, because I need your help."


Sarah knew there was nobody around for miles. The Scottish Highlands is sparsely populated with mountains all over the place. Who could this boy be and how does he know my name, she thought? She tried to figure him out, quickly, "Did someone send you here? Are you with the hospital?"

"No, I'm here for you."

"OK, what does that mean?"

"I know what you are going to do here," he said, while making a fast slicing gesture with his finger across his neck.

"How could you possibly know that?" She looked him over again and timidly took a step closer, "Are you... God?"


The boy relaxed his stance and came inside the hovel, "Oh no, not at all. In some respects I am an Angel, yes, though at times I can be a Demon. Sometimes I am just an Owl. Sometimes I am the air. But to the matter at hand. I understand what you are going through. I can help you."

"You're an Angel? Holy Sh... I mean, wow..."

"Not an Angel, the way you think... technically I'm classified as a Non-Human. Will you let me help you?"


Sarah purposefully says nothing...


The boy shifts his stance for a more confident and secure posture, "You suffer from a heightened sense of emotion, do you not?"

"Yes..."

"Bi-Polar, right?"

"That's what the doctors say."

"Do you think killing yourself will make your emotions go away? Do you think your mood will instantly get better? Death doesn't make you perfect or miraculously give you all that you lack. You have this affliction of yours forever. Everybody has there own things - forever!"

"I don't care! I want all my emotions gone... I mean they are useless. I don't want them to control me and I don't want to control them. I'm sick of managing life, with all it's ups and downs."


Suddenly, but slowly, the boy gets up, looks far away and reaches deep inside his own soul and begins to sing, "Would you like to swing on a star? Carry moon-beams home in a jar? And be better off than you are? Or would you rather be a mule? A mule is an animal with long, floppy ears. He kicks up at everything he hears. His back is brawny and his brain is weak. He's just plain stupid with a stubborn streak. And by the way if you hate to go to school, you may grow up to be a mule." The boy looks and smiles at Sarah, "Come on you know this song."


Together, Sarah and this mysterious, self confessed Angel/Demon, begin to sing together, "Or would you like to swing on a star? Carry moon-beams home in a jar? And be better off than you are? Or would you rather be a pig? A pig is an animal with dirt on his face. His shoes are a terrible disgrace. He's got no manners when he eats his food. He's fat and lazy and extremely rude. But if you don't care a feather or a fig, you may grow up to be a pig."


The boy takes Sarah's hand and swings her around in his arms. For a moment she feels genuinely happy. She realizes she can't dance with him properly, the knife, still clutched in her left hand. She stops and they both look at the knife...


Sarah quietly understands now, "I am at the mercy of two different spectrum's at all times."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"Swinging on a star, or degrading into an animal."

"That is the human condition, but especially true in your case."

"I want to be normal. I want to be OK with not having it all, but not get so low that I become a stupid animal. How do I do that?"

"Support, friends, having an outlet... and you should always give yourself a million breaks. Because in your case, you deserve every one of them."


The boy looked away, out to the open door, taking in the grassy hills and large mountains, then back to Sarah, "You know that feeling when you're driving, listening to the sound of your car wheels on the highway, suspended by the sound of motion... or when a summer breeze blows in through an open window and relinquishes its natural beauty for the house to feel... those moments of pure, whimsical fancy followed by an accompanying nothingness or bliss... that's what you remind me of."
To be continued....

Bob Smeets