IntShoWriMo 2014: Day 5

Day 5: The Enterprise

Today’s Prompt: “My business is to create,” wrote William Blake. This week, write a story whose protagonist is also in a creative enterprise. Your character can be an artist, or he or she can be involved in a field your typical reader may not initially think of as creative. Try to find and describe this creative impulse.

— Courtesy: PW.Org

Word Count: 1,544

It was five in the evening and the feasting was done. Me and Reuben had grabbed a rattan chair each and walked off to the bank of the river a few meters behind his house. We took glass cups, a bottle filled with water and a little table for entertainment. The evening air was fresh and cool; a perfect culture for a serious conversation.

            “What do you guys do down where you said you worked?”

 I took a deep breath and said, “The Enterprise?”

            “Yeah, that. What are you up to?”

I cleared my throat. “I am the Creative Director.”

            “Break that down into chunks I can gobble in one swallow.”

            “I create stuff and I have all authority in decision making.”

            “You’ve lost me for the second or third time in as many minutes.”

I looked at him and spoke one word I knew he’d understand. “Art.”

            “I’d have come to ruin towing that line,” he said. “I tried it often even with you standing close by doing your own thing. Remember the times we came by these same waters as kids to paint the scenery?”

I nodded.

            “You, you were always the gifted hands in the family. Always.” His face congealed in a scowl. “How did you drift so far apart from the promising kid we all believed in, Markus?”

I swallowed and even though my mouth was empty, a lump slid down my throat like XL bitter-leaf-flavored pills.

            “Called and said you got a fine job and we was happy for you. Said you ‘created’ stuff and we believed you were a genius of some sort and beamed with pride everywhere we went…”

Reuben sniffed on his inhaler. He always had one on him whether he caught a cold or not. God knows why.

            “’Kay, I give up. I can’t narrate your own story to you it’s like preaching to the darn choir. So help me out. I want to know what you did. Don’t spit it like some god darn official report. Spin the yarn as simple as simple does without making it sound like a ball of confusion.” He sniffed some more on his inhaler. He sank in his rattan chair. ‘Your turn’ that gesture seemed to say. Read more here: IntShoWriMo 2014

Eneh Akpan

June 5th, 2014