“I didn’t put you there!” “But I found a drop of water and just couldn’t resist.” The painter scowled while her bit of Blue blushed and mixed with its cousin Brown. “Well now, we look like mud, and it’s all your fault.” If Brown had had arms, it would have folded them over each other, while holding a scowl on its face. Blue just twittered and slipped farther down the page, touching Green and making the artist see spots. “Oh, the possibilities!” It sung as it fingered out over each water drop touched. “Look, I am just a little happy blue. Can you catch me?” The stop was abrupt at the edge of the page. Blue hung onto jagged fibres. “Now blue, get back over here before you fall.” “Fall? Oh, but to fall!” And fall Blue did, right off the paper on to Artists apron. “Serves it right.” Muttered Brown as it dried and combined with the paper’s elements. “How will I ever learn when the colours never get long?” “Don’t worry,” Whispered Paintbrush. “They will all mature with you. Give them, and yourself time.”
I have grown to love my six word stories. Many times I just don’t have a lot of words. But when I make myself thinking 6 small words, and how I could fit just those 6 together, it forces my mind open and relieves the pressure.
One thing you wouldn’t know about me unless we are close friends, is my life for sea creatures. There life dance are things of such beauty.
Not to mention, a lot of them taste fantastic…
When I find even six little words, hard to grab a hold of, I know it’s time to pray. “God, if you gave me this need to write, will you also give me the words?”
I believe God has a great sense of humor. Do you? I mean, come on… What was he thinking when he made broccoli? Not to mention its ghost cousin cauliflower?
The table is strewn with papers. Books are piled up at its edges. The floor is covered with loose papers, toppled piles of books, pencil shavings. The Student is no longer sitting in the chair. It is pushed away from the table.
The dejected pile of humanity sits on the floor. Tears flowing, while hands, black from ink, cover a downcast face.
Whispers. Half sobs.
“There is so much, so much I don’t know. So much left.”
Shoulders shake with emotions. Bottled, but beginning to seep out.
“How will I ever finish?”
The bottle cap gives way. True desperation is now flowing out, like from a shaken soda.
“You never will.” The teacher gently rebukes.
An open book is picked up from the floor and gently dusted off. The page corners soothed before it’s placed back on to the table.
“No one ever stops being a student. Not even when they become a teacher.”
Some papers are shuffled together and laid flat into a pile. A pencil is placed back with its counterparts in a small pot. A pen soon joins them all.
“I’m so overwhelmed.” Student’s voice sounds like sandpaper.
“Good. You have learned something wonderful. Let’s have some tea.”