Protagonist

It’s our Wednesday night workshop,
creative writing group meets via Zoom
until the governor allow libraries to open
after this pandemic has finally passed.

We’re virtual so no masks required
but Robert – don’t call me Bob
or Bobby or may fairies and sprites
devour you, not Robby ever –
was wearing a bear mask. Strange.
He clears his throat, twice; I realize
it’s Robert’s turn to read.

He adjusts his furry mask, and begins.
“I was walking a forest path, the treeline thinning
as I ventured on. I saw a pigtailed girl catching
fireflies in a bottle. I asked her name but she
‘poof’ vanished.
“I kept walking, the morning heat growing,
my stamina depleting. An intense lethargy
overtook me and I felt myself swooning.
Up ahead, I saw a little cottage, lavender
growing in the garden. The door was open
but I knocked anyway. Crusted bowls
of cold porridge sat on the table but
there was no one home.
“I found a comfy bed, too big for me,
and a smaller one still too big, and finally
one that was just right. I fell asleep.
The end.”

We clap, I ask for comments for Robert
but there are none. I am at a loss for words;
Robert snarls.
“You people aren’t writers; you don’t get it.
It’s so simple. I’m a metaphor for Goldilocks’
alter ego.”
He growls into his mask and clicks his screen off.
Our Zoom room is silent.

~ J R Turek
June 27, 2020
Hour 11