Something Different

He began posting in the summer of 2023. Stories about his life, poems, and fiction. In time 50 odd people subscribed to his site. A few posts got over 100 views, some less than 40. He read other’s work, marveling at the way they laid bare the best and most vulnerable parts of themselves. He encouraged the writers whose work spoke to him. So much talent. So much life experience. So much humanity. So much of the world.

The hosting site was enormous. It spanned years and continents. Some famous writers posted there. Many that would never be famous or even published shared their work. It ran the gamut for breathtaking to average, but what of it he read was real. He thought about the distance in time and years and geography. Thirty-five million, he was a tiny drop in a large ocean. The drive to create. He posted every Monday. He liked to think that perhaps some of his 50 got a better start to their week by reading. He had always dreaded Mondays, sometimes to the point that Monday killed the joy of a Sunday before it even happened.

He woke early on what would have been the girl’s birthday. She would always be the girl to him even though she had been 21 when she elected to stop having birthdays, overcome by the weight of being. He was going to post a poem he had written for her second birthday, 32 years before. He had imagined a photo of a childhood toy and a preamble in italics telling about her and maybe a link to a song. He would have posted it on Saturday to be on the correct date.

He thought for a long time about the poem. He had saved the document. It would be a matter of cut and paste and then 35 million people and all their readers would have access to it. In the very early morning hours, when the false dawn was just starting to lighten the eastern sky, he decided he would not post the poem or the picture, or the song. He would post something different. Later that morning he opened the laptop and began to write.