Previous Challenge Entry (Level 1 – Beginner)
Topic: Writing (01/11/07)
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TITLE: And They Are Why | Previous Challenge Entry
By Carey Abney
01/15/07 -
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Folders piled up on his desk his coffee took two sugars, black
He touched a pen to a pad to scribble notes for the day
Before he finished the first word his telephone loudly rang
A police detective on the other end politely introduced himself
He asked the man to come down to the precinct, the police needs his help
The man thought this was odd indeed but surely he’d done nothing wrong
Carrying pen and notepad of daily reminders the man proceeded on
He finally met the detective and matched his face to his voice
The cop engaged in some small talk and was reluctant to get to the point
He looked the man in the eyes and said, “You’re wondering what all of this is for...
Well, I’m sorry, sir…your wife and child died in a car accident,” he informed.
The man was speechless and for a number of seconds he really could not breathe
With vision blurred by tears for pen and notepad the man reached
As if it were a dream a gentle voice inside of his mind
Asked, “What are you writing?” He replied, “I’m writing what’s happened and I don’t know why.”
The man was devastated he was zombie-like all day
All those who tried to console him he would mildly push away
The pile of folders on his desk began to multiply
And his coffee black with sugar became too weak to get him by
After work the man would scramble to the nearest watering-hole
He’d say to the bartender, “Leave the bottle, I plan on being here ‘til you close.”
Around 2am the bartender would wake the man with a pitying tone
He’d ask, “Buddy, I’m closing shop, you need a cab to take you home?”
As time went on the man’s bad habit grew harder to hide
He’d reach work late beyond the usual quarter-‘til-nine
His boss was sympathetic but the company came first
Sadly, the man was let go after 18 years of work
With no income a homeless shelter was his place to sleep
So late at night he’d scribble on that same notepad and weep
As if it were a dream a gentle voice inside of his mind
Asked, “What are you writing?” He replied, “I’m writing what’s happened and I don’t know why.”
Deeper in despair the man had spiraled more and more
The coins he’d found could not pay for multiple trips to the liquor
He’d reached his last resort and snatched a purse from a woman’s shoulder
Consequently, the police caught him and he knew his life was over
In jail the man was captive with no friendly face in sight
He was told he’d face the judge tomorrow so get some rest tonight
To his surprise the judge was merciful toward his case
He’d let him go under one condition, that he’d join A.A.
During those meetings the man befriended a writer who had 10 years sober
The writer saw that the man’s notes were worthy of publishing and approached him
The book was titled, DO MORE THAN JUST SURVIVE, and lives were changed
The man was known worldwide for helping people heal from pain
And at the first book signing his readers smiled as well as cried
To his surprise the line in the bookstore stretched for blocks outside
As if it were a dream the man himself asked in his mind,
“What have I written?” A voice replied, “You’ve written what’s happened and they are why.”
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The poetic aspects--rhyme and meter--were a bit rough; the reader struggles to establish a mental rhythm and rhyme scheme.
This would make a great short story, told in narrative form. Your characters are rich and engaging.