Sketch created by Shayna Brewer

Rumination is my achilles heel. Fueled by my anxiety and compulsion tendencies, I get sucked into an endless pit of recurring thoughts I fight tooth and nail to destroy. It’s like being stuck on a mobius strip of consciousness. As hard as I try to get to the other side, the side that will give me peace, the more I realize it is an impossible feat. The other side does not exist, it is an illusion, and I’m stuck on the twisted strip of intrusive thoughts I continuously struggle to escape.

I tell myself, just think of something else. How many birds from your backyard can you name? Cardinal, brown-headed cowbird, house finch, house sparrow, blue jay.

Name your favorite flowers. Peonies, sunset lantanas, hibiscus…daisies.

It’s always the thought or sight of daisies. Suddenly my body becomes heavy and begs to melt into every crack and crevice in the ground. The pollen in the flower’s center de-saturates and becomes monochromatic, as my once clear mind clouds and separates from my body. The world’s colors slowly seep away as I hover above myself.

I try to ground my soul by running my hands through blades of grass in my backyard, but they might as well be clouds, detached from my fingers as my mind drifts further away from my vessel.

I try to smell the air, but nothing registers, even as my garden, filled with fragrant herbs and flowers, dances in the wind in full bloom.

The maladaptive daydreaming swirls visions before my eyes of what could have, and should have been. I’m no longer in this dimension, but another, fixated on the greatest loss I’ve ever endured. I hover above, a sentinel, a quiet observer, watching her grow and play with the dogs, with Nick, smelling flowers and picking herbs.

My corgi Jpeg barks for attention and shatters the rumination and dissociative state. I find myself curled on my couch, under my yellow blanket, cheeks damp with salt. I look at the clock and realize an hour has passed and walk through quicksand back to my home office. I log into zoom, put on a smile, and get back to work.

This piece was written in response to the Saturday Scribe prompt below:

Write about a moment when you wondered if you were broken - or simply buried. What was pushing you down? What tried to grow anyway?

Gif created by Shayna Brewer

The moon waits with anticipation as the glowing remnants of the sun’s shift slowly disappears into the horizon. Within its core, it could already feel its silvery light begin to swell and expand. Night was approaching, their time to shine.

The cricket’s song gradually begins harmonizing with the sleepy drone of the cicadas. The wind blows gently through the mature leaves on the boughs of trees. String lights begin to flicker on in the backyards of homes, venues, and bars. It’s the first warm night of the season and the moon can hardly wait. The world is their stadium and it’s sold out tonight.

Although the moon puts on the best shows in the long winter months, they tend to be isolating. It’s far too cold for the grounding buzz of tiny insects, its favorite musical composition. The bears are sleeping their summer layers away. Its most treasured audience, humans, tend to tuck themselves inside the warmth of their dwellings. Their skin is too thin to worship in the chilly air of frost and snow. Even with the company of its fellow stars, the moon finds itself feeling lonely.

But the moon knows tonight will be different. The sun baked the air, the wind, the ground, in the most satisfactory manner. Its gift to the moon for working so brilliantly in the winter months when the sun couldn’t. It is a thankless task, putting on an extraordinary performance for an absent crowd, but the moon knows it’s when its light is needed the most.

As it begins its journey through the night sky, it says hello to its favorite constellations. They know it’s the moon’s favorite day and twinkle with support. The clinking of fresh citrus and herbal drinks resonate through the air. People laugh and give appreciative glances at the bright silver dollar hovering above their loved ones. The moon beams even brighter from the energy they’re serving. Although ever present, the moon is elated by the renewed acknowledgment and sighs, “I’m home.”

This piece was written in response to the Saturday Scribe prompt below:

What if the moon could whisper? What if summer had a heartbeat? This week at Saturday Scribe, where exploring personification—the literary device that gives human qualities to non-human things.

Personification transforms the world around us. The wind can sigh, the stars can dance, and the moon can watch over us like an old friend.

Prompt

Write a piece where the moon and summer are living, breathing entities. Are they lovers, rivals, or fleeting travelers passing in the night? User personification to bring them to life, shaping their voices, emotions, and desires.

“What happens when your character stumbles upon a piece of technology that was never meant for their time?”

Pic drawn by yours truly

Catticus Maximus perched upon his harvest-gold shag-carpet tree as he licked his calico paws. Each claw was perfectly manicured into a soft, rounded cone, allowing him to hold his coveted artifacts without damaging any of their surfaces. He jumped down to his thick corrugated cardboard desk, the sides torn from regular scratching, and reached for one of his new discoveries. It was a large, brown, deflated, oblong object his intern found at a large field inside an even larger bowl.

The surface was bumpy and divided into four sections. Thick white laces added additional security along one of the seams, and ancient symbols decorated its face on one of the panels. Catticus purred inquisitively and stroked his white whiskers as he examined this exciting new find. Originally, his fellow scholars assumed it was some sort of bag used to carry around precious items. However, Catticus had a more radical hypothesis. He suspected the tiny hole on its side was intended to fill the object with air.

Now why the furless bipeds of legend would need to balloon an ovoid object such as this was beyond Catticus. He had some theories, but why wouldn’t those creatures just make a perfect sphere that you could lazily pat around as you feigned disinterest? It was a secret he was determined to uncover, but first, it was time to inflate this enigma. He pulled out a contraption devised many years ago to inflate other balls found by his university and slowly began filling its belly with air.

“What a silly object this is,” he whispered, bemused.

Once it was filled, Catticus pulled out the air nozzle from the object, but accidentally patted the tail end. This caused it to wobble off the table in an unpredictable pattern. Catticus’ predatorial instinct suddenly kicked in and he pounced ferociously onto the ovoid. His eyes dilated as he rolled onto his back and lifted the artifact in the air. His back legs kicked and scratched violently as his massive canines did a number on the tip.

Realizing, in embarrassment, that he was attacking an inanimate object, that of which just so happened to be one of his new prized possessions, Catticus quickly jumped away. He immediately began grooming himself as if nothing happened. How embarrassing it would have been if one of his colleagues had walked in at that moment. Dr. Whiskers would have relished the sight of Catticus going feral. She’d make sure their colleagues never heard the end of it.

Catticus sighed as he spotted an early morning sunbeam on the east side of his office. The sight of bright light showered in floating particles, like tiny fairies dancing for the sun, was too tempting to resist. Sprawling out in the ray, belly up, he yawned and made a few biscuits in the air. His pondering would have to wait. His internal engine rumbled to a purr that lasted 10 seconds as he quickly drifted off to sleep.

The People Pleasers

The people pleasers
always planning for the worst.
Catastrophizing.

Apologizing,
thought it’s unnecessary,
just to keep the peace.

Protecting themselves
by compartmentalizing,
reducing their pain,

Culminating to
the self-fulfilled prophecy
they tried to avoid.

Welcome to My Brain

Welcome to my brain.
It’s a shit-show, but it’s fun.
Let’s go for a ride.

Neurodivergence
can be an acquired taste,
but you won’t be bored.

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You may get lost, though.
Please keep your extremities
inside at all times.

To the left you’ll find
useless facts about vultures.
Anthrax can’t kill them.

They will glide for hours
soar within groups called kettles
but their feet are weak.

To the right you’ll see
creativity churning.
Nonsense a’brewin’.

Do you see the shark?
Riding a recumbent bike?
I animate them.

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I built this birdhouse.
It had its own bath and art.
The birds weren’t impressed.

There’s more to see but
it seems we’re off track and back
to useless bird facts.

Please exit the brain.
I hope you had a good time.
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