Stories on Cards #2, A Greeting Card Project

Stories on Cards is a project that I completed earlier this year that I would like to share. I began with a blank greeting card and a pen. I would write a story that was improvised, rather than planned. I would need to complete the story by the end of the amount of space allotted inside of the card. Then I would type up the content for my own records and mail the original card to a friend. It’s a great writing project and a good way to connect with friends, rather than the mundane, recycled greeting card entries. None of the stories are perfect, but I am happy with the result of the project, I learned a lot as a writer.

“The Ignition”

Sessel was always unsure. What he was unsure of, that he did not know. But one thing was certain, it was the fact that he was not. He paced back and forth in his studio apartment trying to recall his lack of clarity. He had a plain butter cookie in his hand during this mild jaunt, every third step taking a miniature bite, allowing most of the piece to fall as crumbly casualties onto the carpet. This clear and inherent waste did not bother him, but it did bother his goldfish, who floated idly with a panicked look as each morsel tumbled down to the earth, trying to remember the last time Sessel had fed him.

It was move out day and Sessel had gathered all of his belongings and put them in the trunk of his car. To his surprise, everything fit into two 12x12x12 boxes with such ease, it almost made him feel as though he were forgetting something. With the goldfish in his half packed bowl lodged between Sessel’s forearm and hip, he went for his keys at the doorway. He turned and looked back lost in thought, he stood there for what felt like seconds, but it was really minutes. As time sped on, he thought of the stain on the carpet by the sofa and what had caused it, he looked in the corner where his mattress had laid on the floor thinking of past relationships and how they all ended, and sighed. He felt something, what he felt, he was not positive, but there was something there.

He fingered his key ring over and over, loop after loop, around and around, until he decided it was time. After a few short blinks, he was in his old beat-up convertible, unsure of the transpired events leading him to that moment. The steering wheel was cool to the touch as he firmly grasped the hard plastic at “ten” and “two”. Without looking, he sloppily grinded the key toward the ignition, missing a few times causing additional scratches in an oval surface around it.

The key was in, but he did not move, and it did not turn. At first, this made him angry, until he realized this was all in part to his own actions. Sessel looked lazily at the sky not knowing if the sun was rising or setting. He turned the ignition and drove in its direction.