Surviving is not dashing across the cobbled intersection in heels as the red blinking hand on the crosswalk sign taunts you. Surviving is not participating in a pepper eating contest while hung over.
Surviving is staring out the window of a locomotive as the trees brush your vision, and you feeling as though it’s the absolute most productive thing you could be doing with that slice of universal time.
Surviving is not getting severe bouts of guilt-induced over-sharing with a cop who pulled you over for a broken tail light.
Surviving is playing the piano, even when you don’t know how this goes. Surviving is ignoring the chuckles in the back room as you pick up your painted pottery that you relished creating on a boozey rainy Sunday.
Surviving is taking long showers.
Surviving is listening, to breathed words, to written stories, to leaves that tap dance on brick sidewalks outside of a Starbucks.
Surviving is knocking on closed doors, and taking two steps back, least the occupant nab you.
Surviving is showing up to court on time, after that whole oversharing-with-the-cop thing.
Surviving is saying “amazeballs” without shame or professional reluctance.
Surviving is not winning fights concerning how little the US Government is doing to prevent an asteroid from disseminating humanity. Though, really, they should do more.
Survival is eating cupcakes. Sparingly.
Survival is donating to water conservation nonprofits to make up for those long showers.
Survival is not feeding the bears. You should never feed the bears. Unless you’re a bear keeper.
Survival is cowardly avoiding the portion of the river with a rock trap that could suck you into oblivion. Surviving is dragging your kayak over the safe shore instead.
Survival is hugging trees, with both arms, letting the tips of your fingers dip into those glorious crevices as you smell the bark. Survival is not doing this tree hugging thing when someone is around to call the ward. Survival is stepping back when a bug peeks out from the bark and eyes you suspiciously.
Survival is not being first, unless you get to type "FTW."
Survival is wondrous fluidness, like the vodka shot that insists on running all over the ice luge, instead of down the narrow path.
Survival is not “knowing who you are.”
Survival is learning who you are.
YOU ARE READING
Your Room: A Flash Fiction Collection
Short StoryA series of quirky, often dark short stories. Each title also shows the number of minutes it takes to read it. Many can be read in a minute or less.
