#swt2

"Know Your Limitations"

Assignment:

Use a random number generator to select one thing from each list. Then write and record a 2-minute monologue incorporating each of the 3 random elements.

100 Greatest Bluegrass Songs (incorporate the song title in your piece):

Only Me

Most Populated US Cities List (incorporate the city):

Fremont, California

World’s 50 Best Foods List (incorporate at least one sentence or phrase from your food item description):

Masala Dosa, India – A crispy, rice-batter crepe encases a spicy mix of mashed potato, which is then dipped in coconut chutney, pickles, tomato-and-lentil-based sauces and other condiments. It's a fantastic breakfast food that'll keep you going till lunch, when you'll probably come back for another.

Author's Note:

My focus is on writing, not podcasting, so I'm not actually going to post an audio recording of me reading the piece. However, the word count requirements for a 2-minute monologue is only 260 words, so as such, I went way above the word limit. But I'm happy with what I wrote and so I'm going to stick with it. I know, I should have kept to the "limitations" but I was just having too much fun with it! Anyways, the pov character is pretty much me. Lol. Enjoy!

Solution:

Dark Books on a Bright Day

When it is summer in Shehrezad, I often find myself longing to disappear into a bookstore. I don't know why that is. I have an air conditioned office. I have an air conditioned home. There isn't anything stuffy or uncomfortable about either of these destinations. But on Saturday afternoons when I clock out of work at 12:30 and find myself in the glaring sun, all I can ever think about is burying myself into a nice, fresh book at the nearby bookstore.

There is something refreshing about finding myself between columns of novels and novellas, stepping from comedy to romance to horror. Perhaps I love the way my eyes are captured by the black texts singing of tales unpredictable, and how it feels to draw myself out of them and let my vision go red at the bright rays from the window.

Some people like to read in the rain, and that does hold its own merits. But reading in the light of a bold afternoon fills me with positivity. I feel like I am in the right place.

When I pushed open the glass door to let the cool air brush my face, I turned my head to see that there wasn't a single customer in the shop. Only me. I smiled.

The walls were a clinical white and the shelves seemed to be built haphazardly, like currents of the ocean, to bear the prospective reader along the aisles in its rivulets of titles, some sparkling with new plastic covers, others faded fossils of the deep…

As I moved further into the shop, I sensed someone behind the shelf at the very end of the room. Apparently I wasn't alone after all.

I turned into the corner to see a young man engrossed in a book. He stood hunched over it, eyes rapt on its pages, and he jumped when he heard me nearby. The book flopped onto the floor. 

'Im sorry! I didn't mean to startle you,' I said, scrambling to pick up the book for him.

'No, it's all right, Miss, I just thought I was alone,' he said apologetically, taking it from my hands. I saw the title and frowned.

'The Kite Runner?' I echoed, my surprise stark in my tone. He looked a bit younger than me, possibly just graduated, and had a vague innocence about him that I couldn't quite fit with his choice of reading.

'Yes,' he said, worried at the tone. 'Why? Is it a bad book?'

I gave out a short laugh. 'Well, no, not as such. But I personally don't count it as a nice one either.'

'Really? I heard it was well acclaimed. It's based in Afghanistan and Fremont, California, isn't it?'

'I'm not so sure about Fremont but Afghanistan I remember… Vividly.' I turned towards the shelf featuring more historical fiction. 'I only wish I could forget.'

He closed the book and smiled, leaning against the shelf and studying me with interest. 'You know, my friend told me he loved Khaled Hosseini's books. He said finish one of them and you'll probably come back for another.'

I raised my eyebrows. 'Well, if he enjoys the morbid and torturous kind of fiction I can hardly blame him for it, can I?' I shrugged. 'Some like the spicy. I like the sweet.'

He narrowed his eyes. 'So do you only read happy books?'

In answer I pulled a thick novel off the shelf and flashed the title at him. 'The Book Thief. Not a happy book by any means. This is a story about war and grief and pain. If you have ever felt your heart torn with loss, this story will find that wound and open it up until it bleeds again.' I dropped it into his unsuspecting hands and his shoulders dropped at the weight. 'But at least this book doesn't glorify pain! At least it doesn't ask you to watch people be killed slowly in front of your eyes. At least it doesn't view life as a punishment.'

I closed my eyes and shook my head. Don't get carried away. It's only a book.

But I opened my eyes and carried on to my conclusion. 'I like books that deal with heavy themes, so long as they reflect the awareness that it can and does get lighter after a while. The Kite Runner doesn't care about that. It's heartless.'

I let out a breath through my nose. I thought I had bored him to death with my rant. But the young man had a smile playing at his lips. He straightened up and introduced himself. I was stunned.

I shook his hand and laughed in relief. It was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.