With this ring, I thee… burgle.

I really like the word “burgle.”

This feels like a SWS that works as a story prompt, too. Is this what the jewel thief says to him or herself during a heist? Is this what a gold-digger thinks internally during the exchange of rings at a wedding ceremony? Is this something a bitter divorced person sarcastically mutters when looking at his/her wedding photos?

You can choose your own adventure – which is i guess how “prompts” work.

The bird braved jumping.

Flying followed.

At some point, in order to become who you were born to be, you must find purpose on the other side of inexperience and fear.

Of course, we put a lot of weight on the idea of “purpose.” The truth is also that you must also cross the barriers of inexperience and fear to learn any skill – whether it feels like purpose or not.

Him: “I love you.”

Her: “Thanks.”

This scene is the moment in a relationship wherein the rubber meets the road. No. There needs to be a better way to phrase it than that. When push comes to shove? No. That doesn’t quite work, either, as I hope shoving is avoided. When the Rubicon is crossed?

Maybe an idiom doesn’t work here (I’m open to suggestions.)

There is usually a point in a relationship wherein the two parties either decide to pursue a long-term relationship, or not, and the “I love you” conversation is often that point. I once dated a girl for several months when we hit this moment. I was the one who delivered the “I’m sorry” part of that conversation. It went as well as was possible, but it eventually became part of my own personal mythology. While she cried, for a very long time, I… did not. My friends – when I told them this story later – thought the mental picture of me sitting there stone-faced while she cried on my shoulder was hilarious. The laughing was at my expense, not hers, as most people who know me well seem to agree that I am unusually disconnected from the up and down of human feelings.

::house ablaze::

“… spiders?!”

“Dead. You’re welcome.”

I wanted to write a “fight or flight” story and this one illustrates that it is possible for one’s impulsive instincts to go too far.

When I was a kid, my family was once awakened to the sound of about 10 firetrucks parked on my street, blaring their sirens, putting out a fire two houses away. The neighbors who lived there were out of town and apparently their aquarium caught on fire while they were gone. I assume – but cannot say definitively – that this was not an elaborately staged spider removal tactic. Either way, the blaze is well-etched in my memory.

Burning the house might be one of the few fail-proof ways for an arachnophobe to know for certain that the spiders did not survive, however, there are undoubtedly better approaches to dealing with a eight-legged infestation.

It can be useful information, before living with another person, to find out whether and to what degree he or she is afraid of spiders. If so, having contingencies in place to help that person, in the event of a spider encounter, could be in one’s best interest. Reasonableness in fighting or flighting is key. Since a fire is self-defeating and a basilisk might bring about more harm than good, a housecat or a pet lizard might help to keep down the local arachnid population.

Home alone. Family moved out yesterday.

________________________

The quiet of a house undoubtedly feels different, and deeper, when the other people who contributed to its sound are not coming back.

I’ve always been kind of interested in that type of scene. Despite never experiencing it myself, and after putting some thought into it I now think I know why.

You always used to know you’d reached the end of a TV series when you got to this scene. The place where the whole show has taken place is now empty and one person is left to reminisce before turning the lights off.

I cannot hear the dead. Usually.

Depending on the circumstances, the difference between a state of constancy and almost constancy can be vast. I guess that’s like “I am bound by gravity. Usually.” Or, “My mother is robustly sane. Usually.”     

People often talk about seeing ghosts, and those stories area told in a way wherein the experience was frightening, but I have always been more unnerved about the idea of hearing a disembodied voice. Maybe for me, the veil between life and death seems thinner if a voice can cross it than if a body can be seen across the divide. I can see stars, billions of miles away. I cannot hear them.    

“We avenge Goofy tonight!” raged Mickey.

Mickey Mouse, incandescent with rage, urges his comrades to fight and pursue vengeance on behalf of their fallen friend. What happened to Goofy? Who did this? Why are they fighting? 

If anyone at Disney wants to revive interest in their original cartoon mascots, I am here to help.