The 1000 Word Picture Challenge # 1

We used to have a exercise in our english class wher the teacher woul give us a picture and we’d have to write about it. I decided to let my friends on Facebook challenge me to do it now, only I had to write 1000 words (seeing as a picture is worth one thousand words). The challenge was that not only did my friend choose the picture they also chose the style of the piece.

As I sat alone, I felt so very alone

As if a thousand hand made bricks

Were built into a hundred walls

Each a reminder of some action

Performed by my hands

That I cannot undo.

The bricks are inscribed so delicately

With words that haunt me now

Burrowing deep inside my brain

Feeding on that which once I dealt out

But now drown in daily.

I feel that presence over my shoulder

Overshadowing every decision I make

Bearing down on me like a freight train,

Growing in speed and weight

With every thought that flows;

With every word carelessly uttered;

With every selfish push and shove.

A wise man once said

(with all the wisdom of the universe)

That how people treat you is their karma –

That word worms its way into my memory

An replays over and over and over again

Playing on and on for infinity

Or until my poor addled brain

Turn completely in on itself

And eats away at its insides

Like a parasite gnawing away

Upon its hosts defenceless body.

That self same wise man also stated

That how you react is yours –

I oft remember the tale told

Of a lowly farmer of Scottish blood

Who, working hard to keep his kin,

Heard the plaintiff cry of a forlorn boy

Coming from yonder bog, so sad and scared.

He ran towards that cry for help

And saved the boy from certain death.

The boy, upon arriving at his home,

Did tell his father of the heroic deed.

This man, of noble birth and heritage,

As soon as the sun graced the sky once more,

Rode to the farmer’s humble abode

In a carriage fir for such wealth and status

And offered the farmer some just reward.

The farmer, honest and proud,

Could not, with any good conscience,

Accept a gift for doing what any decent man

Would do in the same situation.

The Nobleman, seeing the farmer had a son also,

Offered a deal to replace the gift rejected:

To educate the farmer’s son

As he would educate his own flesh and blood.

The farmer, knowing the deal was good and true,

Shook the hand of the Nobleman.

Over the years both boys grew,

Physically and mentally developing,

A source of pride for both fathers.

The farmer’s son, with brilliant mind,

Discovered that which would save millions

And yet would also save a man

Who, once being a small boy trapped,

Had been rescued by his saviour’s father

So many years before.

What splendid words did fall

From the lips of that once small boy twice saved

When he uttered that line,

“We make a living by what we get,

We make a life by what we give.”

Here I sit having made my fortune,

Having scaled the dizzy heights

Of finance and all that goes with it.

Now I would give all the coin,

No matter how hard earned,

To have what those I stepped over

To get to where I am now

Treasure so very dearly and hold so very close.

I wonder where my friends are

As I look around at staged photos;

And where my trophy wife is,

Except I am the only one who thinks like that,

That she might be something to be won

And displayed as an ornament.

Is it any wonder no-one would consent,

Not any warm and nurturing woman,

Only those as materialistic and vacuous

As I have been to this point

And hold no attraction for me.

I wish I had listened to those who said,

“One good turn deserves another.”

Too many times I used and abused

And now I sit, abused and used

By the consequences of my own actions.

Living a life where you care not for others

Lends itself to others not caring for you

And now, in the twilight of my years,

Without a friends in the world

And only my bad decisions to keep me company

I know my reactions have been my karma,

The results of my decisions a harsh teacher.

You might say that fate,

She has been a cruel mistress,

But my undoing was not at fate’s hand

For I brought this all on myself

And must bear the weight

Of every despicable action

Upon these weak and narrow shoulders

For all eternity and beyond

Unless I can find some measure of respectability,

Something to redeem my shallow soul.

I want to write Mr Buechner a letter

And ask him now I take them back –

All those touches that burned,

That scolded, stained and scarred.

He will surely tell me that I can’t,

That what has passed will always be

And that those minor indiscretions,

Those major ones too,

Will flow through the universe

And come around to bite me in some way

Or maybe topple those hundreds of walls

Filled with thousands and bricks

Like dominoes set in motion

What feels like a million years ago.

And as they fall the words written

Will burn into my once thick skin

Until there is nothing left of me

But a broken body and a tormented soul.

If I could move from this chair

Before that final domino falls

Then maybe my life is worth something,

Maybe I have evened out the balance.

Now I face that impossible choice

Made such by present circumstance

(Though my current predicament

Is wholly self inflicted and

I have no-one to blame but my own greed) –

Do I continue down this path

That I have worn so well

Or turn and face up to all I have done,

Bear the consequences of a thoughtless existence

And hope that, in doing such an act,

The universe will grant me the favour

Of allowing me some small measure of humanity

That I may leave some mark on the world

Which is not the ruins of what was a life

But instead is that which may blossom

And perhaps grow through nurture

To be bigger than itself

And be a legacy of my time here.