Write Right Now

Chapter 1
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Looking at the tubes connected to her frail, wizened body, I felt a terrible cloying sickness inside me.

Death wasn’t something I wanted to contemplate. She was going to die: no question. The only question was how soon and how painfully. And how much would I let it affect me.
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I wrote a very short story (just under 250 words) in response to a challenge that Roberta had set.

My story was called Alchemy.

I’ve just had another look (and listen) to it today because I’ve been fixing the feed for iTunes podcasts. I updated my version of Podpress a while back and it stopped working properly. Well, I’ve updated it again and it now works beautifully.

In testing it I listened to a couple of the stories I’ve done as audio versions. I must say it’s actually quite enjoyable to make a little podcast, but when I listened to Alchemy I wanted to know more about the story. Frankly, the hook at the end was designed to elicit that response. Well it works on me, at least.

So I’ve decided to continue from where I’ve left off and I’ll post the result as my Friday story post.

At this stage I don’t know where it will take me because – and I’m surprising myself here – I’ve never actually gone back to something I’ve written and done anything with it, whether editing or adding. It should be quite an interesting process for me.

I’ve also had a look at the statistics that Podpress gives you. What’s fascinating to me is that the first podcast I did, several months ago, has been downloaded/listened to in iTunes far more times than it’s been viewed on the blog. The numbers for the other podcasts are rising too, but it’s clear that a little bit of time allows the podcast to be discovered by more people.

We’re still not talking huge numbers, about 468 last time I looked, but that’s a respectable audience even if they never come back for more. And I think having a good title and a good opening line will certainly help with that.

For anyone who has the time and equipment to do it, podcasting might be a very nice way of introducing more people to your blog.

It seems that the stigma will follow me forever. I don’t really know why.

Why me?

What did I do to deserve this?

Of course I blame my parents. It was their fault really. Sometimes life deals you a lousy hand and you just have to go with it. Sometimes your life’s over before you begin, really.

But none of this would have happened if my parents hadn’t done it. It was the biggest mistake of their lives, but they couldn’t see it.

Time’s ticking away and I’m going to have to hurry. That wretched busy journey; it makes me feel sick every time. I hate the way people stare at me. Really hate it.

I loved my parents really. But I knew that all the pain was their fault. They’d raised me that way and even after they divorced moma kept telling me. I just couldn’t help it any longer. It’s funny when I think about it, but they were just trying to do their best. And every day they tried to make me feel better, telling me I was just as good as all the other kids. Why didn’t they tell those other kids? Why tell me? I wasn’t the one causing all the trouble, was I?

Never should have let it get to me and swell up inside me like a raging river. I’m only one woman so how can I change the world? I can’t do it, I tell you.

I’m even arguing with myself to talk me out of it. But I’ve lost the argument. I know I’m going to do it and I can’t stop myself. My parents were right, you see. I am every bit as good as all those other kids. And grown ups.

Maybe if they’d known what was coming they’d have done it anyway. Maybe they’d have taught me to mind my ways more. Maybe. Always maybe. I’m sick of maybe. I can’t live life like this anymore. It’s crushing me. I have to be true to my parents. What they taught me is true and it’s no use denying it out of fear. But just four days ago poor Emmett paid the ultimate price for not being afraid. I’m scared.

I’m scared of doing something, but I’m more scared of doing nothing, I guess. I have to know for once and for all what rights I have as a human being and a citizen of Montgomery, Alabama.

Today I’m going to refuse to move if the white driver tells me to. I’m going to sit where I deserve to sit. Where my parents knew I deserve to sit.

I’m going to tell that man my name and he’s going to hear it.

“My name is Rosa Parks and I’m not moving.”

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Author’s note: This is my idea of what Rosa Parks might have been thinking on that famous day. I have no idea what really went through Rosa Park’s mind to result in her famous refusal to give up her seat to white passengers, although she’s written of some of the motivation. But when it came to the moment itself, I’ve speculated about her thinking.

Belief in yourself is a blessing, even if it can sometimes seem like a curse if it gets you noticed in ways that are difficult. In the case of Rosa Parks, a young woman changed the world with a single moment of self-belief.