CNF: Alternative Prompt

“I am not free.”

Invisible chains grip tighter, tighter, tighter still as I strain against the bonds that keep me from complete, utter freedom. My captors, my unrealized saviors; fear, will, passion, doubts, potentials. Will I have the will to fight until I am set free? Will fear consume courage? Will my passion betray me allied with my conniving mind? Will my doubts crush my spirit, alienating me from the light I so desire?

********

As a child, I had no concept of freedom, all I knew was the wind that tousled my hair, the endless games, lost shoes, and picking black-berries in the shade. I had no idea I could miss something I never fully realized I possessed until it was stolen away.

“You’re going to go to college, get a good job, a good husband, have lots of money and wait to have children until you can afford them,” my mother would chant, day after day, month after month, year after year. I would nod in silent agreement, dooming myself and my future. There were two options: disappoint my mother, living the life she always dreamed of, or living my own life. The latter was inconceivable in my eyes.

I worked and I strived, I prided and I lied. Just to keep that rare smile upon her condemning face.

Plastered grins, faked laughs, and hidden sorrows plagued me.

“Keep up the good work, Callie, just keep it up, make her proud, make her love you, this is your only talent, otherwise you’re useless and a failure. Don’t fail her Callie, don’t fail her. DON’T be a failure,” I prattled to myself every day, striding through my empty life.

Then, that void was filled with a realization. Words of the wise mumbled into a video in my AVID class struck me.

“Have the courage to dream,” the unnamed man said as I blankly stared at the screen he was projected on. I mumbled those same words over and over, pondering their true meaning. Then it struck me like a rage filled bitch slap. DREAM. All my life I never dreamed of what was out of my so-called “reach”, it was so far I didn’t even imagine I could make it. But as determination settled in my stomach, I made the decision. I was going to do what I wanted, what I dreamed, not my mother. I was going to be an author.

CNF: Summer's Cigarrettes

 In the summer you would slide out a cancer-stick to light and inhale to dissipate your sorrows. You posed agasinst a brick wall like a planned out photograph, smoking while passer-bys strode past, uncaring. When anger, terror, or emptiness overwhelmed you, you'd yank out that box of tobacco-slivers to calm your jittery nerves and furious mind. But one pale, fragile, little girl cared. You didn't see her coming as she strmed up the street, eyes intent on the stranger smoking, pluming out waves of grey pollution. She stood, glaring, fists pressed against her hips.
"What?" you asked, looking her up and down, unimpressed.
"Stop," she demanded, staring at the cigarrette resting betwixt your fingers.
"Why?" you asked, slumping against the wall, puffing out more smoke. Rage boiled up inside her. Acting on that rage, she snatched the cigarrette from you, crushing it against her skin.
"What the fuck are you doing!" you roared, quickly groping her arm, examining the wound, "Hospital. Now. Let's go!" You towed her behind you until you arrived at San Juan Mercy. She was bandaged and released.
"Every time you go to smoke, think of that," she said, glancing up at you.
"I will.." you whispered, vowing to never smoke again, compliments of that miniature doll that soon became your best friend.