Time Flies: A Prompt

http://design-milk.com/shattered-clock/

“Isn’t it great?” Marlene grabbed my hand and pulled me toward her latest thrift store bargain hanging on the wall. “I call it Time Flies.” 

I stared at it. “It’s more like Time Broken.”

“Jason, don’t be silly. It’s a work of art.”

“Art? It looks like someone threw up after eating a clock. How much did you pay for that thing?”

“Fifty dollars. It was on sale.”

My wife’s stupidity never ceased to amaze me. “I could smash a clock and dismember the numbers for free.”

I could tell that she was getting upset by the way that her maroon heel tapped against our apartment’s scratched wooden floor. “Jason, it’s not a garage project; it’s a masterpiece. This isn’t something that you can throw together.”

“It’s as bad as that Teletubby doll impaled on a stick you bought two months ago.”

“That sculpture was hilarious. Besides, I put Dipsy under the bed where you can’t see him."

“He’s under our bed?” I started to get nightmares of a green, elf-eared, gut-stabbed mutant crawling out from beneath our bed in the middle of the night, giggling in a demonic voice.

“You said put him where you couldn’t see him. I did."

“But I didn’t mean under the bed!”

“You can’t handle a Teletubby?”

“No! And I can’t handle that crap on the wall! Take it down!” I pointed to Time Flies/ Time Broken.

And that was the beginning of my extensive sleeping on the couch.

He's 10 Times Cooler Than You,Takagi-kun.

Have you ever watched a show and fell in love with a minor character that no one except you cares about?

            I have. His name is Takagi.

            A young policeman in the anime* "Detective Conan," Takagi often accompanies his superior to crime scenes. Once there, he recites facts, checks suspects’ alibis, and hunts for various clues. 

 If I looked up insecure in a thesaurus, Takagi would be a synonym.  Although a capable officer, he often lacks confidence concerning his reasoning abilities and appearance (people tend to remind him of his lack of "coolness" ).

            Perhaps one reason for Takagi’s anxiety is that his appearance never stays the same. You can see how much he’s changed; politically-correct people are probably mystified by his skin tone (I figure that he tans a lot). Originating as a nameless “throw-away” anime character, he stuck around long enough to be added to the manga** that inspired the show.  

You’re probably wondering, “So what?”

Sometimes, I feel like Takagi, playing the game of compare and contrast: “Todd runs better than me” or “Julie looks better than me.”  Society often tells us that if we lose weight or buy a certain item we will become people who can run and look better. We need to be reminded that we don’t need the world’s approval, that we are special in the eyes of the One who created us.

And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to see if Takagi survives the next episode.

 *Anime: Japanese animation.

**Manga: Japanese comic book/graphic novel.  

(I don't own Takagi or "Detective Conan" - Gosho Aoyama does.)

If I Could Change the World . . .

           Ask me that question at this moment, and I would say, “eradicate the common cold.”  Yes, I know it would be so much better for the human race if I said something profound like “cure AIDS,” “clean up the environment,” or “erase poverty,” but I don’t feel especially philosophical right now, especially when there are other people to say it for me.

Of course, I may be slightly obsessed with the idea of curing the cold since I have one. My nose could win first place at a track meet, my sneeze instantly clears a five-foot diameter circle around me, my hot and cold flashes are worthy of the Katy Perry song, and my mouth tastes like hundreds of little gray germs moved in and died.  And don’t forget the aching body, the heavy smell of Menthol, and the let-me-curl-up-and-die feeling.

            Of course, this is the time when you find out whether your amigos are real or just window dressing. A true friend doesn’t mind giving you a hug despite the glazed look in your eyes from too much cold medicine. A true friend doesn’t mind that you can’t stop hacking all over your arm; he or she will probably rush to give you cough drops. A true friend won’t even mind the smell of Menthol hanging around you.

            So I guess a cold is good for something besides keeping the immune system active. But I’d rather go without needing the cough stuff, thanks. Now, where’s my Kleenex box?

Word Count: 249

"Know Thyself"

           A saxophone-playing rubber duck. A sticky chocolate bar. A pencil and a pen cross. A freakishly-small Snow White. All haphazardly Scotch-taped to a Quaker Chewy Bar box. Apparently, this is me.

            I don’t really know what I’m doing; I haven’t since I got this assignment last Thursday: “Describe yourself using children’s blocks or material.” Glancing around my dorm room, I realize that all of my cool stuff is at home. Great.

My Beautiful Creation

But I want a good grade in the class, so I shove aside my regrets. Where do I start? I need a base. I plunk an empty snack box on my desk. Next, Snow White catches my attention. I tape her down as she smirks at me. “What are you doing?” she seems to ask.

            “Shut up.  Just stay there, will you?” I add another strip of tape to her skirt.  A blue paper blob, a Chapstick, a book-wielding Christopher Robin, a Crayola pencil, and a Lionel Hampton Jazz Festival duck are the next victims. In a burst of desperation, I add the Chinese bracelet, the “magnifying glass,” the chocolate, and the hair-clip, praying that my model will stay together. I make up the items’ significance as I go to class.

            So what does this say about me? Perhaps I need to rediscover myself or take up modern art. Either way, I’ve found that I should just enjoy being myself and not take life too seriously. And now if you’ll excuse me, I need to buy more Scotch tape.     

Word Count: 250