Elliot, 29, San Francisco
>>The prompt: 400-word autobiography
Once upon a time, there was a meticulous land of milk and honey where even discarded gum on sidewalks and weeds climbing through cracks added intractably to the pervading sense of perfection. Dirt was wholesome, and injury tickled. Into this land I was born—an experience that was truly beautiful for all present.
Those around me were constantly filled with joy, happiness, and revelry. So much so that they were distracted, and only noticed me when they weren’t entranced by light glinting off of windows, fresh air, or the cozy feel of socks against their feet. Of course, I loved the lack of attention. It made me bold. I ate whatever I could find and became big. I played by myself in the shadows and branches of a large tree and became strong. But because I never learned any better, I decided to leave.
All my possessions fit nicely (without wrinkling) into a tarnished but wise suitcase I found in my parents’ attic. During the bus ride, any anxiety I might have felt was alleviated by the tread of my shoes gently peeling off, then becoming stuck to a former spill on the floor. I befriended the passenger next to me, a gregarious and public man named Frankie Splits. We left the bus together in another place, and I followed him for about two blocks down a street that seemed no different from home. I mean, the signs had different names and it was crisp out, but it felt almost the same.
We reached a car that belonged to Frankie. “I guess this is my stop,” he joked. I smiled because I understood the joke. “All right,” I said.
“So, do you know where you’re going, then?” He ran his fingers along the lapel of his jacket, presumably enjoying the texture.
“No,” I told him. “But I’ll manage.”
“Well, I’m off.” He shook my hand relentlessly, causing a trill of pain to echo up and down my arm. “Seeya around.”
As I strode away, a tiny piece of gravel wedged itself into a groove in the bottom of my shoe. I could hear it scraping against the sidewalk. The noise intensified against the marble floors of my hotel. It was an ugly noise, and people in the lobby frowned as I walked. I hung my shoulders to bear the weight of their glares, knowing nothing would be as simple again.
Elliot – Age 29 – San Francisco
from 400 Words, Issue 1–Autobiographies
page 30
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