Rachel Maddow is on in the background and my Muse is angry with me for neglecting her. That’s the only explanation I can come up with for this response to the latest RandomMichelle prompt. But I’ve posted all but one of these prompt responses; so I’m posting it. You can use the search feature if you want to read those previous prompt responses.
No, no, no, no!
See, this is what comes of too much Disney, DC, Harry Potter, Lord of the Rings, and what is that a fire breathing dragon? Game of Thrones?!
And Ms. Maddow’s voice bounced off the walls as her ire hit us all like a blow.
Cliches! Cliches! Cliches! Cliches!
I sunk into my seat. Though we had all put up some version of the scene, it was my projection that broke the camel’s back.
Ms. Maddow looks nothing like a camel of course – she’s more of the elegant giraffe variety – but you get the point.
In her imaginarium class, there was no room for regurgitation.
The dragon in my projection coughed out a puff of smoke as though her word was a command instead of a critique. I hastily grabbed the clicker and the image disappeared.
I am one of only 10 select students in this advanced class and at this very moment Ms. Maddow was wondering why she had ever thought there was potential in any of us; potential in me.
“You are to go where no one has been,” she said. “That is your privilege. You create the magic that fills this world with possibility with the stories you tell.”
And she looked at us for a long drawn out moment.
“So tell better stories.”
We were a hangdog lot as we filed into the halls of the Arts Complex that day. Dancers danced by, singers ran scales, thespians thesped, and we, the storytelling elite, we were as bereft of magic as the norms beyond the walls. That made me shudder, for there was no greater tragedy than to be born without a creative spark.
That night I dreamt of a world without art, without beauty, without magic and woke up in a cold sweat. I washed my face. And began again to imagine…