“Test”

Writing has been tough the past few months. It doesn’t come easily to me when I call it to existence every Friday. I blame my unfocused mind because of the many things I am chasing. In light of many past failures, I have decided to focus on what I have and, as always, stay disciplined in achieving what I ultimately desire. Freedom!

Tonight’s blog post is, as always, based on a prompt given to me by my 11-year-old not-so-tiny human. 

“TEST”

Below are very tiny stories inspired by the prompt. Happy Reading!

I.

The night I couldn’t sleep, the curtains swayed late into the night, dancing to the tunes of the wind. Spring is my favorite season, but I can’t help but wonder if those winds perform a slow dance at night just to keep me awake.  When my eyes finally gave up, trying to read the words before they flapped shut. My brain always broke the protocol and dimmed its light. I saw the curtains flow in the room one more time, striving to reach the ceiling, only to yield to the retreating wild breeze. I closed my eyes, letting the paper fall from my fingers. I had done all I could; tomorrow’s mid-term had already taken all my strength, and I wasn’t going to give up my sleep as well. With exhaustion wrapped in worry, I let myself enter the land of deep sleep. 

II.

His tests were all normal. He was an average, slightly healthy young man for his age. The doctor handed us the numbers his testicles were producing—thousands, if not more. I sat beside him, holding his hand, just as he held mine in his, our eyes meeting for a comforting glance before sliding back to the papers in front of us. Our little travelers grew and lived comfortably inside his testicles; they simply refused to use my uterus as any kind of lodging. They didn’t even consider the ample space my body had prepared for them. Instead, they passed by like uninterested travelers avoiding a dark cave because no one else wanted to visit it. According to the doctor, I failed the test, but he passed; at least. 

III.

I sat by the phone, waiting for it to ping. I stared at the apps, anticipating the arrival of a new email. I waited all week, but no one called, texted, or emailed. I washed the dirty laundry in the basement, entering quietly while everyone slept, folding and ironing what I had started. While everyone happily ate, I washed the dishes. I tidied the room where we sat munching on snacks, drinking tea, and sharing stories woven throughout the day. I sat by their beds, kissing and hugging their tired, tiny heads. We laughed and talked some more. The lights turned off, and I checked my phone once more, hoping it would ping. My day ended with so much accomplished, yet no ping from the phone.