Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors' Eight Sentence Sunday!
It's the weekly hop for everyone who loves to write! We've got a variety of genres and talented writers just waiting for you to come sample their wordy wares. Come read one, or all!
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It’s been a busy and somehow off-kilter week here. I can’t exactly say why; maybe it’s that the rest of the world seems to be in holiday mode while we….aren’t, so much. (and, to prove how off-kilter things have been, I wrote that previous sentence on December 23. It's now the 31st, and I'm finally ready to finish up this post!)
It’s not that we’re ignoring the festive Solstice/Christmas/Hanukkah season. We’re just laid back and having a simple, relaxed season of togetherness. We don’t have a family religion; it’s more a matter of spirituality and philosophy individual to each of us. We embrace the elements that speak to us, and let the rest be. Rushing around in pursuit of a perfectly clean house and mountains of material possessions would keep us from deep connection, so we don’t do those things.
Whatever the holiday season means to you – even if that’s nothing at all, may your year wind down in peace, aglow with comfort and joy. Merry Whatever to You!
And now, on to the business of the day...
“Monday Morning Coffee” has been with me since I was sixteen. A local teenaged boy with schizophrenia wandered away from his family at a large outdoor event, and, several days later, was found, deceased.
From that story came this one – the connection might not be clear to anyone but me – but it’s there.
A young woman awaiting her Monday morning commuter train is being watched by an ill-dressed man she doesn’t know. No one else seems to notice him.
Meaning and Comfort
Maybe I'm the one who is supposed to give meaning and comfort this miserable Monday morning, at least to this one man.
I'm up before I really know what I'm doing, and the woman beside me scowls harder at my sudden motion. The 6:37 is pulling in, so I'm moving against the flow of traffic, hoping he doesn't vanish into the crowd.
He's still there, his eyes downcast, fisted hands now shoved into his windbreaker's thin pockets. He remains hunched over, as though he's trying to disappear into the bench.
He tries not to look like he's watching the mug, but I know he is. I hold it out to him. “Happy Monday. This is for you.”
Will the watcher accept the gift?
Will the young woman be satisfied that she’s helped?
Will she miss her train?
Any guesses you’d like to share?
“Monday Morning Coffee” was originally published in the 2015 edition of World Unknown Review, edited by L.S. Engler. Since I retain all rights beyond first publication, I intend to revise the story and add it as my own self-published library, currently in progress.