"I have tried simply to write the best I can. Sometimes I have good luck and write better than I can." -Ernest Hemingway

“The only living works are those which have drained much of the author's own life into them.” –Samuel Butler

Friday, March 2, 2012

Musings of the Smart Girl with Pink Hair and High Heels (Quit While You're Ahead)


Passing by, paying little attention, and moving too fast, I try to grab for my watch as it peacefully rests on the snowy-white counter. In slow motions, I see my hand dramatically grip the wristband for long enough only to give the helpless object enough momentum to begin a spiraling freefall. Realizing my hand only groped weightless air, I jerked out my hand to cushion the rapid decent of my helpless watch. Not fast enough, I stared in guilt as the crash rang through the room.
As if this inanimate object’s life depended on it, I scooped its bruised body up and cradled it in my gentle fingers. With critical eyes, I inspected its small form to locate any damage I’d accidentally inflicted. Relief flooded through me as I heard the perfectly timed ticks of its little heart.
The small clock was still alive but it hadn’t come out of the incident unscathed. Pieces of simple decoration floated around, dislocated from their sockets. Wanting to remove the glittering pieces as if they were deadly shrapnel flowing in its bloodstream, I became a surgeon. I took a simple butter knife to open my damaged time-keeper. With its innards exposed, I hastened to continue the operation. I gently twisted the tiny screws out of their groves and tried to remove all of the patient’s compact organs to allow for the shrapnel to fall harmlessly out of the body.
Little did I know, I had carelessly cut into a vital vein and I unintentionally had started an overflowing rush of internal bleeding. Having not realized my mistake, I returned everything to its proper place and began to close the incision. Thinking I had successfully completed my unnecessary surgery, I then noticed the trickling cut.
The minute-hand on my wounded watch now didn’t have the strength to fight gravity’s influence and another wave of guilt washed over me as I sadly stared at the limp appendage. Knowing my ministrations had been all for naught, I began to bandage up the incision I’d made.
However, try as I might, I couldn’t pop the parts back together. I struggled for a short while, determined to not give up and, for the last time, a great idea in theory turned out to be destructive in practice.
Trying to clamp the inflexible parts together, I managed to stop the beating of my pitiful watch’s heart. A crack sounded through the room and it catapulted me back in time to when this whole tragedy had begun.
Looking sadly down at my faithful watch that was broken to pieces, I wished I had quit while I was ahead.

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