One Thousand Word Freestyle
If writing were an Olympic contest
I imagined a race.
In lane One. Rigid. Great form and format, excellent executioner.
— Rumor has it that Rigid is so finely squared he boxes himself in. If this were boxing, and his square were a ring, he’d surely be knocked to the mat never to rise again in the first round. He needs to stretch, loosen up, and become more flexible.
In lane Two. Lucid. Clarity of thought, very inviting. Melts in the water.
— Talk is going around that Lucid is so much of a visionary that he see’s things that are not even there, and fear they are out to get him. Instead of clear sight, his sight is foggy. Too bad fantasy is not his thing. If he could stop his mind from racing, he could win the race.
In lane Three. Serendipity. A stumble bum. Luck always favors her.
— If there ever were a crowd favorite, Serendipity would be her name. Most of the money is on her. She does nothing special, just tosses her hat into the ring and golden words fall from the sky as though handed down through the generations by Moses ancestors.
In lane Four. Melancholy. Determined to turn back time, as well as the time keeper.
— This one wishes she were Moses’ posterity. Always thinking about yesterday’s victory — two-thousand yesterday’s ago. She could use some smelling salts, some gracious words on a stone tablet, or a Medium internet connection.
In lane Five. Editor. He’s a sharp eyed wizard with a strong finishing kick.
— He knows his language; words, punctuation, and all around good grammar. He is good at burying his friends’ darling kin, and counting syllables, but not his own. Some say a ghost writer may participate in his place while wearing his face. Or it could be that is just another made up (totally fictional) story.
In lane Six. Lance. Seldom makes the cut, but deadly when in the zone.
— Lance is a self starter and a great self-promoter. If winning this competition didn’t take more than that, he’d be a lock to win. Though some call him “Free”, he is anything but. I’d bet that he somehow got paid just to show up here. Him and Rigid are good friends.
In lane Seven. Blank. Blank is a slow starter and seldom finishes anything.
— Words come slow to Blank. There isn’t much to tell. He is the most feared, the most talked about, and the least written about. His are always the last words found fit enough to write and then crumple.
In the Outside chance lane. He that is nobody. He has poor diction, and is an adverb’s best friend.
— This nobody character is terribly developed. To edit him is to throw out everything but his teeth, just to save his skin. Yet, miracles have happened before. One year his sister, She that is nobody, won the whole damn thing.
Will somebody please wake the Russian judge? We are about to start.
My name is Lucid. Again, I lost this race that wasn’t and wasn’t fair.
May I open my eyes now?
© Kimboak Benham 2019
