Renga Experience

PROMPT #1

I stare at the line of people increasing in front of the small counter. There was a family right at the front, a baby in the father’s arm, and the mother struggling with the backpack as a young boy tugs at her arm. I hope I would not have to sit with them, else this would be a much longer flight than it already was. It was true that it can’t be helped, they can’t do much to control their children, but I’ve flown enough to eventually stop caring. Especially on this flight to this place – again. All these years and I’ve never once flown peacefully there.

I waited until the line dwindles and head off myself. Double checking my pockets as I inched across the aisle to my seat. As always, I stashed my bag under my seat and watched as the compartment below closed silently then the moment my back hit the seat, the seatbelts emerged from both sides and met in the centre. There was a pressure before they loosened and adjusted across my stomach.

Adjusting my posture, I scan the filling body of the plane, try to make use of hands in a way that appears unassuming. Flying terrifies me. Something in the way this large piece of machinery propels itself into the ether leaves me terrified, and anxious to find ground again.

I brace myself for the moment of frightening, electrifying impossibility, when the enormous, heavy, artificial thing lifts upward in a motion as light and natural as a bird. My hands are folded in my lap, tightly intertwined, comforting one another. I glance across the aisle into the eyes of the young boy from the queue. He stares back, completely unperturbed. I glance back at my hands, the only thing as daunting as flight is dealing with kids. I look up again, unable to resist the urge to see whether or not he is still studying me. He is and I grimace as my stomach drops. We’re airborne.

 I try to turn my awkward expression into a cool mask of indifference. It works for a few minutes, before I forget that I’m ignoring this kid, and look over when he lets out a scream. Fuck. He was doing it to get my attention, I can tell by his smirk. What does this little shit want from me? I’m neither ugly nor attractive enough to warrant such stares, I’m actually painfully average. Maybe the kid is trying to warn me, he could be one of those kinds that sees dead people. What if the plane is \going to crash, and he’s the ghost of the a kid who died. He’s back from the future to warn me to..

‘Uh, miss are you ok?’

The air hostess is staring at me, along with the entirety of my row. I look down at the wet patch covering my breasts down to my knees. Great, in my moment of panic I spilled my vodka on the rocks all over myself. And to think I ordered it to calm my nerves.

“I’m Fine, I’m fine I’m fine.” I insist. I’d need to clean myself up, but that would require walking in the unsteady turbulence to the bathroom. It was a fifteen step walk from the door, I know, I counted, so I exact that it must be only three extra steps to the bathroom.

I wait for the hairy man stolling down the isle to pass me, and then climb out of my seat and make my way. The Kid next to me grins when I get up, mocking me and my mess.

Three steps, along the isle, I try not to glance into the faces of the passangers near me. The look relaxed, watching entertainment, or reading books or sleeping.

Six steps along, and the plane juts downwards and I stumble briefly before regaining my footing. A woman next to me with a cheap pearl necklace looks at me, bored.

Ten steps along and I’m nearly there. I can feel the wetness of my drink seeping against my skin, draping it uncomfortably around my bones. I’m suddenly aware of my body, leaving it behind to float above. I inspect the stain on my top. I can deal with that. I wore layers for a reason. Mostly because when we land it will be fucking freezing, but secondarily because I am a psychic, and I knew this would happen.

At least, that’s what I tell myself as I propel myself back down to stare at my hand on the doorknob to the toilet.

“Excuse me – miss?” I look over my shoulder at the air hostess. “It’s just… occupied at the moment.”

I yank my hand away as though it’s been burned and squeeze out a quick smile for the woman. The door flies open and the bearded man assesses my outstretched hand, my visibly wet top, and my wide eyes with a whip of his gaze. God, if I can’t deal with judgemental toilet-goers on this plane, how am I going to deal with my step-family waiting with my name printed in Cambria on an A4 sheet of paper at the end of this flight?

PROMPT #2

The streets are crowded as I walk home. It’s tourist season, so many British teenagers celebrating the conclusion of their school years. From the sounds of it they didn’t learn much. I don’t understand much of what they’re saying, but I know they know nothing. They’ve learnt nothing. They were never really here in their white walled hotel rooms and rooftop pools. Their eyes have seen the bottom of vodka bottles but not the people here. The question, I suppose, is have I?

I don’t know of smiles and laughter, of content slumbering in the afternoon sun. My change of scenery is a walk from the train to my home, living in the ignorance of those around me. Where has the child within me grown to? She was here and gone so quickly, lost in translations anon. I found myself another to give it away. My interests wane with time, like the crescent moon. I denote triumph. I’ve surpassed ties and created reasons. I crusted the shell around me to protect, and find.

I immediately book a flight home because I realise I am not even local to there, my emotional dexterity is limited and I wish to grow as a person, mentally, spiritually and emotionally. Its nice flight, comfortable, with super tasty orange juice. I land home and there they are ready to greet me, the same look on their faces, time had stood still. There is nothing here for me, I have to go back, mum forces a smile, ‘don’t ever leave again honey, this is your true home.’

EXPERIENCE

For the first prompt, there was a shift in tone and genre in the middle. It went from a narrator who hates flying to someone feeling awfully nervous because of a child. This transition made the whole piece progress faster and the plot became more intense around the middle. It became more of a mystery/thriller genre, but only in the middle. At the end, it was revealed that the narrator was going to meet her step-family. This shift in tone turned the story into more of a drama. Why doesn't she like her step-family? Why is she always being judged? These are the questions that arose by the end, as opposed to questions like 'what is the kid planning to do?', 'why is she so nervous? Did she do something wrong and is trying to escape?'

The second prompt was three paragraph long and the tone remained fairly constant throughout the first two. Then, there was a slight change of voice in the final paragraph especially with the line '...with super tasty orange juice.' The sentences are much shorter as well compared to the first two paragraphs where the narrator was thinking in longer and deeper thoughts. That shift is as if the narrator had been pulled back into reality harshly. I think the biggest change in this is the voice of the narrator - from purple prose to straightforward.

It was interesting to read how people perceive a story. I originally had a science-fiction story in mind for the first prompt but obviously did not have the time and wasn't thinking coherently to pull that off for the next writer. With such a short time, the writer do not have that much of a time to try and figure out what the previous writer was trying to say. All they could do was do a quick read to get a general idea and try to continue the story. The absence of communication meant that we were on our own. There was nobody to tell us where the story should go, I found that I often depended on what I already know personally which meant that I was using my habitus to continue the story. The pressure of a timer also made me write anything that came into mind, there was no filtering just words after words. It felt like catching fishes with your bare hands, desperately trying to hold onto a thought before it slipped out of my hands.

Overall, it was a really fun writing exercise that made my brain work. My favourite part was how the story ended up, I loved reading the shifts and trying to guess who wrote what. The element of surprise from not having an outline to follow made me excited as I shifted from one laptop to the other.