Navigating Home
Experimental Writing
He
is
lost.
Haplessly.
Helplessly.
Hopelessly.
Lost.
Just drifting along, a lonely ghost haunting these aisles. Is he destined to wander? At that thought, tears pool in his large eyes. Benedict Tennyson has never felt
lonely.
Lonelier.
Loneliest.
Among this sea of people.
Navigating.
Navigator.
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon, c’mon
Seven times mantra of seven.
Odd.
Lost.
Lonely.
Navigating.
Five seas among seven lands.
Benedict — also Ben, Benny, Beanie, BenTen, BT, or Brat — continues his lone navigation. Is he destined to wander forever? At that thought, he sighs as he drifts aimlessly,
not knowing where to go.
Where will he go?
Where can he go?
“DEE!”
“DEE!”
“DEE!”
“DEE!”
“DEE!”
“DEE!”
“DEE!”
Is that — ? It is! A signal, beckoning him home!
And he runs towards it —
Tennyson Senior ignored the strange looks he was getting from his fellow shoppers. He only lowered his arm and stopped his beeping noises when he saw his boy came barreling toward him.
He sighed.
“Ben, how did you get lost? We just turned the corner here!”
“I — er — I was looking at the — erm — the chocolates,” Ben’s voice trailed off.
“Chocolates.” Tennyson Senior’s tone spoke volumes.
“Ya! Do you know they have a new taste call orange chocolate?”
Tennyson Senior only rolled his eyes upwards. “Why me?”
Never ride the balloons alone if you don’t know how to navigate.
A vignette (of sorts) to this story:
This is a response to the Imagà Imaginings prompt by Michael Stalcup:
