Week 8: Lina

10/21/2020

Prompt:
It is the future, some number of years from today, and memories can both be extracted and traded. Some people are trying to salvage what they can from their past, somewhat normal lives, while others try to build a past they never had. One of these efforts takes place at a small gathering where people auction their memories. Kind of specific—see what you can do.

Word Count: 175-275 words

Expectations:
-Remember that you are writing for the King's Academy community. Please be respectful of that community.
-Respect the word count
-Your work should have a title--this is not part of your word count.
-Include your full name and word count at the end of your submission.
-Have fun with this challenge.

Deadline:
22:00 Tuesday, October 27th

Photo Source:
https://m-hindustantimes-com.cdn.ampproject.org/ii/w680/s/m.hindustantimes.com/rf/image_size_444x250/HT/p2/2017/03/17/Pictures/fourth-annual-christie-mumbai-art-auction-in_f27ba866-0a76-11e7-814d-775bded0c5ff.JPG (Hindustan Times)

4 Comments

Jawad Alazzeh

10/23/2020 06:11:45 am

Meeting Your Idol

It is the year of 2060.

Four decades after 2020: the dawn of the Age of Pain and Misery.

No learning, death of Kobe Bryant, over ten million deaths.

On this gloomy night, there was an auction taking place in the center of New York City. A thin, ragged figure appeared on the stage, displaying his memory to the audience on the screen behind him. A memory of Kobe Bryant. One that many dreamed of.

A giant man exited the auditorium crying, he was winded. He had sold one of his memories, and was overwhelmed by the pain he felt. This was the downside of selling a memory, you would never feel happiness again. Many people decided to live a life of misery for the sake of their loved ones. The poor figure on the stage was doing this for his son.

The auctioneer’s voice rang out, “Our opening bid is 250,000$.” All memories were expensive. The bids would keep going on, this was a precious memory. One that I myself desired.

The sad, rigid individual on the stage just sat there crying. The world had changed. This was a life of sadness. One that would ruin humanity itself. Everything was spiraling downwards. If you had a memory worth selling, you would never live in peace. It was a money grabbing selfish generation. Then the poverty-stricken man on the stage heard the auctioneer smash the gavel and shout SOLD! I walked away delighted that I had met Kobe Bryant.

Word Count: 247

Mar Pizarro

10/26/2020 10:24:26 am

The Memory

I still remember him from all those years ago, his soft black hair falling in wisps across his forehead and eyes. Oh those eyes. They were an unusual shade of tan and more tantalizing than a freshly bloomed flower on a clear spring day, dew still dripping off its petals. His mouth was like a rose petal but sharp as a thorn. I remember the picnics at the park in the center of the city. So many leaves falling from the trees that you would think it was fall. We would always take strolls after eating. He would walk faster than me and I would nearly have to run to catch up. The sight of my half run half walk would always make him laugh. He would slow down though. He was a gentleman no doubt about that. Although he never really could just wait for me. He always had to flash that stupid, silly grin and call me “slowpoke”. Then we would lock eyes and crack up. I still remember him maintaining his bike with worship like devotion. I would always tease him about how a “grown man loves his bike more than his mom”. I never really minded though. Especially when we would go biking and the wind would wisp in my hair and rush past my ears. If I closed my eyes I always thought it sounded like the ocean-

“Mam, are you buying the memory or not?”
“Yes off course, one of the best in this whole auction” I say as I swipe my card against the woman's machine.

Yasmine

10/27/2020 12:22:44 pm

Fear Hunter

“Fifty thousand.” I knew I could get the memory I so craved for lower, but that would be unfair, considering the contents it held, disrespectful to the memory.
It was a quick bid. No one else brave and daring as I to attempt to buy out something so priceless. A metal cube curved at the edges, smooth stainless steel with but a single dip in the middle to flip it open. Geometrically perfect.
While most had their drugs and happy little memories which they use to lie to themselves with. I had this. My memory- not truly my own memory but it would be soon. I don’t hide or lie to myself; I indulge myself in the terrors, acknowledging them so they scare me no longer. I’ve seen war, I’ve seen famine, I’ve seen plagues and pandemics alike. Loved ones and their passing, be it painfully or peacefully. What could possibly scare me? Thrill me? Nothing.
But I open the container regardless, the metal smooth and cold against my warm leathery hands.
I see nothing, my new surroundings dark and dank with a stench so putrid I nearly emptied my lunch on the pavement before the show had even started.
Lord. A smell like rotten cantaloupe, the aroma plunging itself into my nostrils, resting on my tongue and bringing water to my eyes.
I cough. I laugh. I scream and I cry and I sob all until I’m but a broken man strewn upon a cold concrete floor. So horrible what I saw, brunt like fire into my scalp, into the recesses of my mind. Unadulterated fear.

Yasmine Najjar
Word count: 275 words

Lina Obeidat

10/27/2020 09:28:59 pm

Thank you all for your submissions this week!

Mar, what’s up? You are the winner for this round. Your words flowed together very smoothly, so much so that when the memory was interrupted, I too could feel myself being detached very suddenly. I think this piece reminds us all of someone we might miss, but it’s an especially interesting idea—to be able to miss someone you have never met before. Is there a word for that? There should be a word for that.

Jawad, I thought it was interesting that you chose to write from the perspectives of both the one selling the memory and the one buying it—a nice comparison. The last line, “I walked away delighted that I had met Kobe Bryant,” was my favorite, so simple, yet it holds much weight to it. Also, 250,000 dollars?!

Yasmine, your piece was the most unexpected. I didn’t think anyone would be searching for fear to be a memory they sought to indulge in, as you say. I also thought it was cool, the way you made these abstract memories, tangible, held, or rather trapped into these small, steel and artificial containers—sorta disturbing. Well done!

Try Out Your Words

Week 8: Lina

Leave a Reply.

Archives

Categories

​Try Out Your Words

Week 8: Lina

Leave a Reply.

Archives

Categories

Try Out Your Words