Takeaway ... #1. Somewhere in Seattle, WA.

Essay #1
CAN 234
Canadian Studies: Creative Writing
Mitchell, Will E
24/3/2010
1. “Choose what you desire”

Prompt: Write an essay in 429 words on choosing what you desire. (10 pts)

“Can I still sit down and write a damn essay to a prompt I’ve been living, not studying for, the past two months?” he asks himself, thinking through the beginning though the end was near.

“Was there a middle?” follows suit in logic, erasing all possibilities, though perhaps the most contestable of the three, and the class period slowly ticks away. Minute by minute, the sun creates a different shadow and pitch along its azimuth coordinates.

He closes his eyes and watches the visions of white and thermal tics stream before him. The thermal oranges of the delicate layer of the eyelid is all that blocks the sixth sense from being set free. No pure forms take shape – it is only the shadow of the pen and grasp of fingers upon it that merit artwork today. Adjusting the pitch of the pen to approximately 45 degrees, by extending or contracting the forefinger and thumb, creates a shadow that will someday be the shape of the top of the world’s newest, tallest skyscraper, envisioned by peers.

Upright and the spirals are gone, into a blunted stubby mass of the top of some parliamentary building, the steeple atop the hollow dome to echo the secrets being passed among them, solidified and sent virtuously to God, perpendicular and plumb, the tip.

Or perhaps a lightning rod? Capturing the energy instead of talking it away? Yes, this is it…

He stops to ponder this as flies lap up the microbes on the plastic table, the beverage beside him has lost its flavour and is mostly an abstraction now to provide a break from the day’s chores or lifestyle: Awake when desired. Eat when desired. Drink the steaming espresso as permitted by tongue and scald. Future, past. Future, past. It’s a four second commute from the kitchen to the space; there’s no rush today. They’re waiting, perhaps, but he’s two hours behind – has been for months – biologically and of mind.

The day unfolds on queue – the dead robin the cat dragged in causes hair to form in the back of it’s throat. The survivors, orange breast, singing “not to worry,” pick for worms and call each other. They’ve lost Pat.

His father calls, the rhythms of spring have begun back home.

“Soon enough,” he says, watching the cherry trees blossom with each passing day and looking to the mountains for inspiration. That is it – the middle is now objective. To choose desire was to live desirably – now the man writes and thinks about his wit.

Has he chosen correctly?