This story was written in response to this month’s prompt in Fictionistas. If you are interested in the prompt, you can find it here. If you would like to read more stories based on this prompt, check out the comments in this thread post.
This story is a 3 minute read.
Audio of the story, read by the author:
Dancing or Daydreaming
Clink clack clink clack woosh scrub clink clink.
The white noise of the washing takes over and my brain thinks the warm water from the kitchen sink is as soothing as a hot spring.
I’m drifting again.
I remember when Mother used to say my daydreaming was my greatest weakness – distracted in class, disconnected in social situations – but now? How would I survive this drudgery without it?
The tree outside my window sways. It reminds me of a song Father used to sing that would immediately distract Mother from whatever she was doing, pulling her into a dance. He’d pull her in close and she’d be consumed by his presence. As a result, she walked through her life always awaiting his cues, ever alert and paying attention.
Mother never wanted to daydream, she was ever attentive and waiting.
Clink clack clink clack woosh scrub clink clink.
The dish rack is almost full. I can not see the bottom of the sink. Is the sink too large or is the dish rack too small? How can I leave the dishes undone?
“Your daydreaming will be you undoing!” Mother said in a near-panic. She had come out of a Parent-Teacher’s meeting, found me in the corridor and pleaded with me to stop. I silently nodded wondering what the teacher had said that made my Mother so frightened of what seemed to be a normal enough preteen habit. When we got home, she didn’t tell Father, but he sang to her anyway. I watched him dance away her sadnesses.
Clink clack clink clack woosh scrub clink clink.
No one sings to me here. I don’t dance away from the dishes. I just daydream. Was Mother right? Will it be my undoing?
Clink clink squee ka-kersh!
A juice glass slips from my wet, soapy hands and crashes to the floor.
Down on my knees, with dust broom in hand, I’m not exactly daydreaming anymore. I am remembering…
The song Father sang never saved Mother. Mother never smiled when she saw Father, or when she danced. Her dancing was not graceful and fluid, but tight and regimented. The dance did not sweep her away from her darkness. It was her darkness.
Mother knew better than I, a prey animal can not daydream. It would be their undoing.
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Are you a daydreamer? Do you think of daydreaming as a strength or a weakness? What do you think the protagonist’s mother is dancing away from in this story?
The inspiration
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Oh yeah, and I'm the one that goes into the dark places. I don't think so.